


press stop. rewind. repeat?

by zeraparker



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aftercare, Anal Sex, Barebacking, D/s undertones, Fingering, First Time, Japan, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Max the best dog, Orgasm Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paris - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Sharing, Subdrop, Teasing, Threesome, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-08-21 12:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16576130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeraparker/pseuds/zeraparker
Summary: They don't usually talk, really barely knowing each other yet. Sure, they exchanged numbers a while ago, write the occasional text message when trying to set up times for meetings and comment on each other's social media, but it's usually Andre that's their common ground, Andre and James, or Andre and Jean-Eric, not James and Jean-Eric, despite the more prominent role James will have in the team next season.~ From Paris to Japan





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, all the cuteness around the Techeetah launch, and then the cuteness and weirdness that was Japan the week after... and I just tried making sense of it. Will be posted over the next days (I know I said on tumblr in three parts, but I'll likely split it a bit more as the edit shows it works better that ). Rating, pairings and tags are subject to change quickly :P
> 
> Thanks so much to lost_decade for all the cheerleading!
> 
> Enjoy :D

Seeing Jean-Eric's name light up on his phone screen surprises James enough that he doesn't answer immediately, the call going to voicemail before he reacts. James calls him back before he even checks for a left message.

“Hi, what's up?” he asks as soon as the call goes through.

“Hi,” Jean-Eric answers, his voice warm, his accent wrapping around the words as they exchange a little small talk that sounds stilted and strange to James' ears. They don't usually talk, really barely knowing each other yet. Sure, they exchanged numbers a while ago, write the occasional text message when trying to set up times for meetings and comment on each other's social media, but it's usually Andre that's their common ground, Andre and James, or Andre and Jean-Eric, not James and Jean-Eric, despite the more prominent role James will have in the team next season.

“Listen,” Jean-Eric says eventually. “I was wondering how you'd be coming to Paris? For the launch?”

James shrugs although he knows Jean-Eric can't see him, wandering around his Monaco flat. It's early evening and the sun is filtering dark orange through the blinds. “I was planning on taking the car, you know? I don't really have anywhere to be.”

“Yes, Andre said you might,” Jean-Eric says and then pauses for a moment. “Could you do me a favour? If it's not too much to ask?”

“Come on, spit it out, man.” James rolls his eyes.

“Could you drive by Gordes and pick up Max? You know his mum is spending the summer there and Andre left Max with them until after we come back from Japan, but...” Jean-Eric pauses, sighing. “That's a long time.”

James' heart warms immediately. He knows how much Andre loves that dog. “That's a really sweet idea.”

Jean-Eric laughs, slightly embarrassed. “I want to surprise him. He's just messaged me that he'll return from the States early Monday morning and go straight to the factory, so you could come by the day before. Obviously you can sleep here too, there's enough space, if you don't fancy a hotel.”

James hums, thinking. “I don't want to intrude.”

“You wouldn't,”' Jean-Eric reassures him quickly.

“I'll think about it, okay? And I'll definitely pick up Max. I'll text you when I've made plans with Andre's mum.” Having a furry road trip buddy for most of the ride doesn't sound too bad either.

 

 

 

They make two stops on the way for James to get more coffee and Max to select a different chew toy from the bag Andre's mum had made him take along. By the time they drive into Paris it's late evening, the street lamps switched on, and Max sleeping curled up on his blanket on the passenger seat.

The satnav announces the address Jean-Eric had given him coming up ahead. James follows the numbers on the houses with his eyes, then drives down the road and into a side street up ahead to find a parking space.

“Come on, buddy.” He nudges Max awake, leaning back when the dog shakes out his fur when he tries to put the leash back on him. Shouldering his bag and Max's, they make their way around the corner to Jev's apartment complex.

Max gets more animated by the time they've climbed the stairs to Jev's flat, eagerly wagging his tail, skittering across the polished wooden floors as he demands petting.

“Good to see you, man,” Jean-Eric says in welcome, bidding him inside. “And thanks for the pick me up.”

James grins broadly. “Andre's face tomorrow will be worth it.” Max makes a questioning noise at having heard Andre's name, then scampers away into the living room in search for him. They move through to the kitchen, the table as well as the one James had seen through the living room door stacked with Techeetah merchandise, documents for the launch the next day and other team stuff. “Been busy?”

“Excited,” Jean-Eric agrees, flashing him a big smile. James is taken aback by the open happiness on the other man's face, not having seen him so excited and relaxed at the same time before. It unsettles him, having the chance to re-evaluate him, to rearrange the public image he's seen with the tales Andre has told him and the first-hand evidence he gets now. It feels weirdly intimate, even if they talk mostly business and what will happen the next day over dinner, the early alarm they've set for the morning making them end the evening at a reasonable hour.

“He likes you more than me,” Jev says when they say good night in the hallway, Max trotting ahead of James into the guest bedroom.

James shrugs, not sure of the sudden uneasiness that's risen between them. “Wait until he realises you're feeding him. His loyalties will change.”

Jean-Eric sighs, resting his head against the door frame to his bedroom. “We'll see. Have a good night.”

“Good night,” James answers in kind, but sleep doesn't come easy.

 

 

 

Andre is already at the factory in Versailles by the time they arrive, Jean-Eric caught by the promo team to be dragged back outside with a couple other important people to film their arrival at the factory, the first of many snippets that will make it onto the various social media outlets later. James watches him for a moment, watches that practised public persona slipping into place seamlessly, and wonders if he'd ever get as good as Jean-Eric is at compartmentalising himself if he had to. He doubts it. Still lost in thought he makes his way to the back of the factory, to the private parts of the building that stay private even during days like this.

James finds Andre in his room, sprawled across the wide couch there, his face shielded behind one arm as he's snoring softly. His sneakers are lying in a messy heap on the floor next to the couch, his socked toes twitching from time to time in his sleep. James knows they won't have long until they have to join Jean-Eric downstairs, so he closes the door to Andre's room again, heading down the hallway to the communal pantry.

When he returns to Andre's room ten minutes later with two cups of strong coffee in his hands, the alarm on Andre's phone is blaring, Andre cursing heartily as he thumbs it off, wiping at his eyes.

“I smell coffee,” Andre mumbles, pushing himself up to one elbow. He looks like death warmed over and spit out.

“Hello to you too, sunshine,” James answers, but hands over the cup without argument, having mercy. “Long flight?”

“I hate inter-continentals,” Andre whines and drinks a big gulp of coffee, not minding the heat and almost burning his tongue. “But Laguna Seca, man.” He closes his eyes in bliss. “Those cars.”

James laughs. “Don't get your knickers wet, love.”

Andre grins widely. “You'd love it too.”

James smiles into his coffee, taking another careful sip. They chat about the last couple days, everything that happened since they last saw each other, and what's on the schedule for today while Andre forces himself to wake up, walks into the en suite to have a quick shower and dress in the overall he and Jean-Eric are expected to wear for the presentation.

“How do I look?” Andre asks, turning around to face James.

“Old and tired,” he says, smirking when he sees Andre pout. “But nothing that the make-up girls can't fix. Come on, bro.” He ducks out of the way of the punch Andre aims at his shoulder, out into the hallway.

When they reach the area behind the big screen and the veiled car set up in the entrance hall of the factory, James hangs back a little, watching as Andre walks over to Jean-Eric who is deep in conversation with one of the team principles,watches that genuine smile spread over Jean-Eric's face when Andre catches his attention, the long, firm hug they share once Jean-Eric manages to shrug the team principle off, this kind of affection the only thing they can allow themselves in public, even the way Jean-Eric hides his face against Andre's neck and the way Andre's lips almost touch Jean-Eric's ear as he says something too quiet for anyone else to hear is a risk.

The morning goes by in a rush. The energy inside the factory is palpable, not just to the employees, infecting the arriving media representatives as well. James finds himself bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits behind the screen in the entrance hall for the short intro video to finish, watches Jean-Eric and Andre go forwards to unveil their beast. A few minutes later he is called down to join them for pictures, before he is pulled away into the guts of the factory, having the fun job of driving laps in the simulator and explaining the preparation process to the guests.

Time passes quickly, and before he knows what's happened the steady stream of guests has dried up, the team starting to pack up the media curtains, the factory returning to its usual professionalism. James retraces his steps through the hallways, shaking hands here and there. The door to Andre's room is partly open so he doesn't think twice about going inside, doesn't even knock.

James doesn't know what Jean-Eric is saying, the rudimentary French he picked up in Monaco where he can always get by easily with his native English by far not good enough to understand it, but the tone of his voice is gentle, soothing. He is sitting on the edge of the desk in front of the window, his legs dangling in the air. Andre is standing between his knees with his back to the door, leaning his weight heavily onto Jean-Eric, head resting on his shoulder. They have both changed out of the overalls they wore in the morning, back into starched white team shirts and jeans. James watches Jean-Eric's fingers card through the hair at the nape of Andre's neck, their eyes meeting over Andre's shoulder. The smile on his lips is so tender, James has the urge to look away.

“Are you done for today?” Jean-Eric asks, switching to English.

James nods, clearing his throat without really knowing what to say. Andre has stiffened slightly, turned just enough to look at James, closes his eyes again when he sees who the intruder is, relaxing once more. “Yeah. You too?”

Jean-Eric shakes his head. “There's still a couple meetings about the motor show the next couple days, and the sim work the old man has to do.” Andre huffs indignantly, but the way he pinches Jean-Eric in the sides is more affectionate than hurtful, barely making the other flinch. “You want to go back to the flat now?”

Nodding again, James shifts from one foot to the other. “Yeah, if that's okay with you? I think I'll go for a walk. Maybe pick up some take-out.”

“He's staying with us?” Andre chimes in, squinting at James. The little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that always prelude one of his big smiles are just so visible. “That's nice.”

“Dinner would be great,” Jean-Eric agrees. “I don't feel like cooking.”

“Pasta,” Andre agrees. “I want pasta. I want carbs.” He draws out the last word into a whine.

Jean-Eric knocks the side of his head. “You'll get some coffee now, before you really fall asleep.” He pushes at Andre until the other stands up more or less straight, stretching his arms over his head and yawns heartily. Jean-Eric hops off the desk, crosses the room to fetch a set of keys out of his jacket from the adjoining room, tossing them at James when he returns. “There's a couple of business cards for restaurants on the pinboard in the kitchen, they're all great,” he says, before linking his arm through Andre's before the other can slump down onto the couch he'd already eyed longingly. “See you later.”

 

 

 

It's a beautiful sunny afternoon in Paris. Max is ecstatic to be outside after being locked into the strange apartment for half the day, and James understands the sentiment, can breathe freely for the first time all day. He has picked out one of the Italian restaurants from the cards in Jean-Eric's apartment, looked it up on his phone. It's quite a bit across town, but if there's one thing James has plenty of today, it's time, so he grabs his jacket and the leash and they set off along the streets. Paris is busy and colourful on a Monday afternoon, and James grabs a cup of coffee after a while, allowing some children sitting on the next table over outside the café to pet Max, give him some treats.

Evening is setting by the time he spots the restaurant he picked out. He goes inside, orders some pasta dishes, then uses the time it takes for them to be prepared and boxed to head outside to the food vendor he saw a couple houses down, picks up some fresh lettuce and vegetables for a salad. The food he gets from the restaurant smells amazing, and he has to hold the bag up high so that Max won't constantly sniff at it.

They take the metro back to Jev's apartment. From up the street, James can see that the lights are switched on behind the thin curtains on Jean-Eric's floor. He juggles the bags of food in one hand, the end of Max's leash and the keys in the other to get into the house, climbs the stairs.

“Sit,” he commands, waits until Max has obeyed to let go of the leash, knowing he won't be able to hold the dog anyway as soon as they're inside, concentrates on unlocking the door instead. Before it's even half open, Max has slipped ahead, suddenly barking loudly in excitement.

“Oh hey buddy.” Andre is sitting in the doorway to the kitchen, having dropped to his knees upon seeing the dog slink around the door, trying to get a grasp on the wild animal that's trying to jump all over him, lick at his face, his hands, turns in the lose circle of his arms. Max wags his tail hard, emitting a dull thud as it hits Andre's arms and torso. He is wearing a fluffy bathrobe over a pair of comfortable looking sweatpants, his hair still wet from a shower. “You guys are such fuckers,” Andre says, but his voice is betraying his harsh words as so often. “I really really hate you.”

James slips off his sneakers, kicking Andre's thigh as he walks past into the kitchen to set down the bags of food. Jean-Eric leans over the kitchen isle to give him a high five. “It was Jev's idea,” James says, taking off his jacket and returning to the hallway to hang it by the door.

“But James drove by your house in Gordes to get him,” Jean-Eric replies.

“Your mum will pick him up at the end of the week on her way back to Nivelles. And she wants a factory tour,” James says.

Andre gets to his feet, unbuckling the collar and leash from Max's neck so that he won't trip over it, bunching it up in one hand. “Thank you,” he says when James walks back towards the kitchen, pulling him into a tight hug that lasts a little too long, but that James returns willingly, allowing Andre to cling to him for a long moment. He lets go of James's body, then grabs his head, pressing a firm kiss against his temple.

“You're welcome, bro.”

Andre walks through the kitchen, leaves the collar and leash on the counter top and hugs Jean-Eric as soon as he's closed the oven door into which he has put the dishes James brought for keeping them warm. He murmurs something too quiet for James to hear and then kisses Jean-Eric, deep and slow and intimate, and Jean-Eric all but melts into him. Max nudges against James' leg and he's grateful for the distraction, leans down to scratch his ears.

They eat dinner in the kitchen, sitting around the kitchen isle, talking about the day, showing each other pictures and social media reactions on their smart phones. Andre shovels down more than his share of the pasta, but his eyes are sleepy and he's yawning by the time they're done, the small adrenaline burst seeing Max had given him all but wiped out. James and Jean-Eric shoo him out of the kitchen, sharing the clean-up between each other.

“I'm glad you came,” Jean-Eric says, taking a dripping plate from James' hands to dry it and then put it into the cupboard. “I'm glad you're part of the team.”

James reaches back into the soapy water, humming quietly. “Me too.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “Can I be honest?” He looks to the side, waiting for Jean-Eric's full attention, his short nod to go on. “To be honest, I was worried about coming here. About joining the team.” Jean-Eric takes a step closer, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “The way you two just clicked, you've only known each other for a year, or what? And you're already such a unit. I didn't want to intrude.”

Jean-Eric touches his arm lightly. “You're not an intruder. I want to get to know you.” He chuckles lightly. “I know it's always Andre and me, Andre and you. But he talks so much about you, I got a little jealous.” He smirks. “So I want to get to know you. Not just through him, through what he says.”

James swirls his fingers through the soapy water, fishing for some cutlery at the bottom of the sink to distract himself from that weird intensity Jean-Eric shows that he doesn't quite know how to deal with. “Andre said he wants to take you to Tokyo before the race in Fuji, show you our city. Would you...” he pauses, not sure he should be the one making the offer. “Do you want to stay at my place? It would be nice.”

“Yeah,” Jean-Eric says immediately, smiling again. “I mean, we should ask Andre first, but yeah, I'd love that.”

Pressing the last pieces of cutlery into Jean-Eric's hand for drying, James unplugs the sink. “Shall we ask him now?”

Andre is lying on the couch, curled up around Max. His eyes are closed and it looks like he's asleep. Jean-Eric sighs, walking over to him and sits down on the couch next to his head, brushing over his hair.

“Andre, you need to go to bed,” he says softly. Andre makes a disgruntled noise, but reaches for Jean-Eric's thigh, moving without opening his eyes to rest his head in Jean-Eric's lap.

“We're not going to carry you,” James says and sits down at the other end of the couch, only to have Andre stretch his legs until they're in James' lap, using both of them as pillows.

“Don't get too comfortable,” Jean-Eric agrees, but keeps petting Andre's hair, not really giving him any incentive to get up. “Andre.”

“Hmm?” Andre makes a quiet noise, curling up even more into himself.

James meets Jean-Eric's eyes, then squeezes Andre's knee to get his attention. “You guys wanna stay at my place in Roppongi next week?”

“Hmm?”

“Andre, Japan next week.” Jean-Eric tries, then sighs. “We'll decide that tomorrow. Come on.” He pushes at Andre's shoulder. “Bed time, old man.”

“Fucker,” Andre mumbles, not wanting to move. It takes a lot of pushing and prodding to get Andre to his feet. Jean-Eric wraps his arm around his waist, steadying him.

“I'll set an early alarm to get to the motorshow tomorrow,” he tells James. “I'll see you for a coffee before you drive back to Monaco?”

James smiles. “Yeah. Now get him to bed.”

 

 

 

For a moment, James is disoriented. He doesn't know where he is, he doesn't know what woke him. It's dark in the room, barely any light making it past the drawn curtains. The mattress jostles again and he reaches out across the wide bed, his fingers finding soft fur.

“Aww, come on, Maxi,” James groans, covering his eyes with one arm. Max whines and nudges James' other hand with his nose, licks at his fingers until James scratches his head, petting the dog sleepily. “It's way too early, bro.”

Max calms down quickly, snuggling into the blanket and against James's side, but James is awake now. He reaches for the bedside table, for the bottle of water he'd left there, but it's empty after one big gulp, not helping against his thirst. He stares at the dark ceiling, absent-mindedly stroking Max's head, the dog already back asleep.

With a sigh, James rolls out of bed. He curls his toes when his bare feet touch the wooden floor boards. It's not cold in the flat, but the air still feels chilly after the warm cocoon of the blankets. He shivers as he walks to the door, which is half open from Max slinking inside. It's almost quiet inside the apartment. James moves down the hallway towards the kitchen, past the living room that's lighter due to the street lamps outside that side of the house.

The hushed murmur of voices reaches James' ears as he walks towards the kitchen, coming from the mostly open door to the master bedroom. He doesn't want to pry, heck, he's never even been an exceptionally nosy person, but the open door allows for a straight line of view of the bedroom, tinged in the same orange glow from the street lamps as in the living room, giving the scene an otherworldly glow.

They're naked on the bed. The blanket has been kicked aside, teetering on the corner of the mattress, more on the floor than on the bed. Andre is lying on his back, his hands clutched around Jean-Eric's thighs, who is straddling him. He is leaning forwards, braced with his hands on either side of Andre's head. They're talking quietly, only snippets of words reaching James' ears, too quiet to understand even if they were talking English, breath hitching from time to time as they're moving together, with each other, into each other. It's a slow, languid rhythm they have set, Andre's hands at Jean-Eric's thighs encouraging him on.

It's a mesmerizing sight. The undulating movement of Jean-Eric's hips is making the muscles in his lower back flex and ripple, all the way up along the bumps of his spine to his defined shoulders, the dim orange light casting shadows over his skin. As James is watching, Jean-Eric dips down his head to kiss Andre, his shoulders flexing in a way that reminds James of the cat emblem adorning their cars.

Jean-Eric breaks the kiss, saying something as he sits back and Andre follows him, sitting up himself, his wide hands stroking up Jean-Eric's back as Jean-Eric leans into the hold, reaching up to tangle his fingers into Andre's hair as Andre licks at his chest, kisses over his pecs and his nipples, licks into the hollow at his collarbone. Jean-Eric sighs happily, pushing Andre's head back to kiss him again, deep and slow. Andre murmurs something against his lips and Jean-Eric nods, moving his long legs to wrap them around Andre's waist, moaning quietly as it makes him sink deeper onto Andre's lap, his weight shifting, supported by one hand with which Andre grabs at his thigh. Jean-Eric holds onto Andre's shoulders, clinging to him as Andre pushes himself to his knees, lifting Jean-Eric clean off the bed. They sway for a heartbeat as Andre finds his balance on the squishy mattress, then turns around in one fluid motion, reaching out to catch himself against the bed as he lowers Jean-Eric onto the mattress, sinking onto him.

It's the ease with which they move, the simple intimacy and trust between them. James shakes himself out of his staring, averts his eyes and takes a step back from the door. He feels too hot, his throat even more dry now as he tries to swallow, the water bottle he finds in the kitchen when his feet finally carry him there soothing on his tongue. He contemplates going back to bed, but his skin is still crawling and he doubts he could get any sleep now anyway.

In the end, he ends up on the couch in the living room, watching the sky slowly lighten outside. He must have dozed off at one point, because the next time he opens his eyes it's decidedly brighter outside, even though it still feels like way too early.

Andre is standing at the end of the couch, his head cocked to the side. “You know there's a perfectly fine bed waiting for you in the guest room,” he says quietly, his tone fitting that twilight hour of early morning.

James rolls his eyes, can't stifle a yawn. “I know. I was using it until Max woke me up a while back.” He raises one eyebrow.

Andre's cheeks redden slightly when his mind connects the dots, but he grins too, self-satisfied, unashamed. “Sorry about that.”

James just rolls his eyes again. “You're not sorry at all.”

Turning towards the door, Andre smirks at him over his shoulder. “Coffee?”

The door to the master bedroom is closed, James notices as he follows Andre into the kitchen, closing that door behind himself too so they won't have to whisper, won't have to fear waking Jean-Eric by making too much noise. Still, Andre foregoes the chunky metal coffee machine with its automatic grinder, reaching for the electric kettle instead to boil some water, taking a French press and a box of ground coffee out of one of the cupboards.

James sits down at the kitchen isle like the night before, watching Andre measure coffee, adding water, retrieving two cups from the cupboard. He's wearing the same sweatpants he wore last night, riding low on his hips, his skin looking washed out in the pale morning light. He can see traces of Jean-Eric on him, in the dark smudges of love bites and bruises on his skin, in the crinkles around his eyes, in the confidence with which he moves around Jean-Eric's space.

“You look different,” James says, leaning on his elbow on the kitchen isle.

Andre glances at him. “Hm?”

“More settled. Balanced,” James says, trying out the words as he speaks them, unsure which one is right. “He is good for you.”

“He is,” Andre agrees after a moment of contemplation, his voice quiet, tender. “Are you jealous?” he asks, trying for a joke, their usual banter, but it falls flat.

“No,” James says, and knows that the truth is audible in his voice. He averts his eyes, following the pattern of the granite counter top with the tip of his finger. “I'm just sad I couldn't give you that.” The silence that falls between them is tense, uncomfortable in a way James isn't used to. He scratches at the counter top with his blunt fingernails, feeling the smooth stone beneath them. The cups clink as Andre sets them down on the kitchen isle, the warm scent of coffee slowly filling the air as it steeps in the French press.

With a sigh, Andre sits down across from him, rubbing his hands over his face, messing up his hair. “You made me happy. You still do.”

James glances up at him. “But it wasn't the same. You two are a unit. Hell, they even mashed up your names, and everyone is just going with it. We were never like that.”

“That wasn't on purpose. That wasn't planned.”

“No, but you're going with it, and it's doing you good.”

“I didn't want to pressure you into anything, I always felt like I pushed you too hard into something you didn't want.”

“But I wanted you.” James' lip twitches. “It felt like you were holding me an arm's length away. And when you started talking about going back to Europe for good...” He shakes his head.

“You never asked me to stay,” Andre argues, his voice tight, but not angry.

“You never asked me to come with you.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a stalemate across the kitchen isle.

Andre rubs at his eyes again, then busies himself with the French press, dividing the coffee evenly into the two cups, pushing one across the invisible border in the middle of the kitchen counter. “Fuck, I'm not good at this,” he murmurs into his cup, taking a tentative sip. He glances at James over the brim of his cup. “I thought you were glad, getting a bit of space.”

James shakes his head. “I missed you. Still do.” It doesn't really help that they never officially ended it, that it just kind of faded out through distance and other commitments.

Andre looks down at the dark surface of his coffee, turning the cup on the counter top. “I didn't know.”

Nodding, James takes another sip of his coffee, the cup already half empty. He gets to his feet, taking it with him. “I should go pack. It's a little earlier than I wanted to get going, but I'll avoid the morning rush this way.” He doesn't wait for Andre's reply, quickly opening the door into the hallway. He is not fleeing, he tells himself.

Max is lying on the bed, lifting his head when James walks into the room, his tail swishing lazily over the blanket, following James with his eyes as he gets dressed, packing the few belongings into the carry-on he brought along, disappearing into the bathroom. He drops his toiletries bag into the carry-on, then sits down at the edge of the bed to tie his sneakers. When he sits back up, he reaches across the bed, scratching Max behind the ears, leans over to nuzzle at his soft fur. “See you soon, buddy. You were a good road trip companion.”

Andre is leaning in the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed over his naked chest. “You should have breakfast with us.”

James shakes his head. “No, I should really go.” He sets the bag down on the floor, stepping closer for a hug. “I'll see you soon, yeah?” Andre wraps him up in his long arms, drawing him close, and suddenly it's like that first time, so long ago on the other side of the world, clinging to each other homesick and drunk. Their lips find each other and they're kissing, slow and deep. Andre tastes bittersweet on his tongue, like coffee and regrets, and James pulls away, resting their foreheads against each other. “I've got to go.”

Andre nods, his arms falling away. He looks lost, standing in the doorway to the kitchen when James pulls the door shut between them.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one; don't worry, next ones will be longer again, but it didn't feel right to add this bit to the end of the last or the beginning of the next chapter, since I ended up switching POVs a lot. Enjoy :D

Jean-Eric wakes to an empty bed, to an empty apartment. Its sudden quiet after the bustle of the past days unsettles him, as he walks back to the bedroom, picking up his smart phone from the bedside table.

 _i thought we were having breakfast together?_ he writes to Andre, tossing it back onto the unmade bed as he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, have a quick shower.

_sorry. i took max for a walk. i'll bring croissants._

The message is waiting for him when he looks at his phone ten minutes later, towel slunk around his hips.

_got to leave for the motorshow in 30. james?_

_max woke him. he's already on his way._

Jean-Eric sighs, tossing the phone back onto the bed. He scrubs the towel through his wet hair again before getting dressed, starts the coffee machine. He looks at the two used cups in the sink, the French press with the grounds still at the bottom. _everything okay? did something happen?_

_let's talk tonight. dinner?_

He stares at the phone, and the short messages Andre is sending him, and wishes he could see him, that Andre hadn't left so early. He sighs.

_you cook. i don't feel like going out._

The thumbs-up smiley Andre sends back doesn't tell him anything at all either.

 

 

“Thanks. See you tomorrow,” Jean-Eric says as he leans back into the team car that drove him back home through the Parisian evening traffic. The door shuts with a satisfying thud as he throws it closed, watching it rejoin the traffic and head down the road. For a long moment he just stands there, watching its back lights disappear around the next corner, rolling his shoulders to remove the stiffness from his body. His ears are still ringing from the noise, the crowd and the loudspeakers in the exhibition hall, the constant heat of hundreds of lamps set just right to show their beautiful car to the world. His cheeks ache from smiling all day, but it's a good hurt, and he finds himself surprised to look forward to doing it again the next day. It's different, he thinks, smiling when there's actually something to smile about.

The flat is warm and inviting, the scent of fresh food and the sound of something sizzling drawing him into the kitchen. Max lifts his hand from his paws for a scratch as Jean-Eric walks past, but his attention is on the food, the scents making the dog's mouth water.

“Your dog is drooling on the tiles,” Jean-Eric complains with a grin as he walks up behind Andre, who is stirring vegetables in a deep frying pan.

“You're always drooling on the pillows, idiot,” Andre shoots back, winking at Jean-Eric when he catches his eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jean-Eric leans against Andre's back, resting his chin on his shoulder. “That looks good.”

Andre smiles gently. “I didn't know what you'd prefer, so I got fish or beef, and we'll have the other tomorrow.”

“Fish sounds good.” He wraps his arms around Andre's waist. “You okay?”

Andre tenses a fraction, determinedly stirring the vegetables in the pan. “Yeah.” He sighs. “Dinner is ready in 15, if you want to take a shower.” Jean-Eric nods, whispers a thanks, his lips brushing over the soft skin at Andre's collar. He takes a step back, turning to go freshen up.

“I kissed James.” The words reach Jean-Eric as he's almost out the door. He stops, looking over his shoulder at Andre who is still staring straight ahead at the food he's preparing. “This morning. I kissed him.”

“Was it good?” Jean-Eric can't help his lip twitching into half a smile at the incredulous look Andre shoots him. With a wink Jean-Eric walks out into the hallway, shaking his head to himself as he heads for the bathroom.

He isn't surprised, he knows as he looks into the mirror over the sink as he takes off his shirt, reaches into the shower to turn on the water, stripping off the rest of his clothes as he waits for it to heat up. The hot water is soothing on his shoulders, washing the little aches of the long day away.

“You're not mad?” is the first thing Andre asks when Jean-Eric returns to the kitchen ten minutes later. Andre goes to the fridge, retrieving a bottle of wine, splashing some onto the fish in the pan, then takes down a wine glass from the cupboard, fills it for Jean-Eric, topping off his own.

Jean-Eric grabs his wrist when Andre hands him the glass, squeezes it tight. “I'm not mad.” He waits for Andre's curt nod before he lets go of him, raising the glass to his lips for a sip.

“We haven't, you know,” Andre is searching for words as he busies himself, plating their dinner, taking the plates over to the kitchen isle. “There wasn't anything this year. I mean. Between him and me.”

“When _was_ the last time?” Jean-Eric asks, genuinely curious. Andre always plays his cards close to the chest, and if for nothing else, just for this glimpse into his past, into someone Jean-Eric doesn't know at all who became the person Andre is today, Jean-Eric is grateful. James is part of Andre's past, of that Andre that Jean-Eric only ever sees in shadows and hints and stories that sound like half-truths.

“I don't know,” Andre says immediately, his eyes flickering away, chewing on a bite of fish. “Japan, I guess. Before I left.”

“Didn't he want to come along?” Jean-Eric asks.

Something painful flashes across Andre's face and he puts down his fork, rubs at his eyes. “I thought he didn't want to.”

It clicks for Jean-Eric then, that wistful look he'd spotted on James' face when he'd thought no one was watching, the adoration with which they still talk about each other. “You muppet,” he says, using the endearment he's heard James and Andre use for each other.

“Why are you even okay talking about this?” Andre asks, aimlessly pushing the food around on his plate. “You should be glad he's out of the picture.”

Jean-Eric shrugs, not completely sure himself. He likes James; he's part of the team now and they will be seeing more of each other in the future, and Jean-Eric would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to that. He likes how James is around Andre, their easy banter and flirting. And he likes how Andre is around James, letting some of his guard down, carefree when they chase each other around dirt tracks and up mountains on their bicycles. “I like him.”

Andre snorts with dry amusement. “I feel like you two are teaming up on me.” He fingers his phone out of his pocket, thumbs through it to open the last message conversation he'd had with James, the time stamp dating it earlier this day. “You know what's that about?”

_the offer still stands_

_?_

_ask jev_

Jean-Eric pushes the phone back towards Andre, taking a sip from his wine. “He invited us to stay at his place in Tokyo,” Jean-Eric says, replaying what they talked about the night before. “We tried to ask you yesterday, but you just wanted cuddles.”

“So you two _are_ ganging up on me.”

“You keep saying that like it is a bad thing.” He grins like a cat. “So what about it, you want to stay at his place?”

Andre leans back on the high stool, contemplating. “We used to live in the same building. I sold my flat when I decided I was done with Japan.”

Jean-Eric reaches across the table, capturing Andre's hand, squeezing it lightly. “I'd love to see that. Your part of town.”

The nod Andre gives is reluctant, but then he catches himself, nods more firmly. He turns his hand, palm against Jean-Eric's and entwines their fingers. “Yes, okay. If you want to,” he gives in, feeling Jean-Eric's fingers squeeze his anew.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OBVIOUSLY this was written before Andre's Instaspam this morning; I had assumed that he put most of his stuff into storage last year, not basically kept a completely inhabitable flat that looked like he just walked out the day before (which does fit him super well though, commitmentphobic much? and also explains why he was so absent during the other week in Japan, probably busy arranging for the flat clearout; and also explains why his house in Gordes still looked so uninhabited when all his stuff was still in Japan [also who the fuck has books on bathroom design, Mr. Lotterer, who does?!]). So yeah, I am ridiculously happy about him sharing such personal shit on insta, so please make some leeway for the timeline of this fic. Thanks and have fun!

It catches him off guard how much he missed this. Andre is standing on the roof of what he still considers _their_ apartment building, the night time wind catching in his hair, in his ears. It's not really cold, but he shivers anyway. One year ago, and all he wanted was to get away from here, from the lights of the city claustrophobic around him, hanging suspended in the darkness, wavering through the invisible air currents; from the press of anonymous bodies in the crowded streets and malls and public transport trains; from the language he never got a good enough grasp on, the smells and tastes that while delicious carried no childhood memories, no emotions.

He listens to the digital shutter of Jean-Eric's smartphone camera behind him, James' voice pointing out buildings and shapes in the dark over the roar of the wind. The weight of their late dinner is sitting pleasantly in his stomach, the drinks they had warming his cheeks. He's just so tipsy enough to take the edge off the tension he's been carrying with him over the past days, on the long plane ride he'd spent mostly sleepless despite knowing it will make him grumpy and hard to be around.

“Hey.” Jean-Eric's voice and the arms slung around his waist startle him slightly, draw him out of his reverie.

Andre turns his head just enough to catch Jean-Eric's gaze, the tired swoop of his eyelashes, the lazy curl of his lip. He's wearing his jetlag like it's going out of style, in the crinkles around his eyes and the bed-soft smooch of his hair. It suits him in the way it forms a stark contrast to the hard lines of muscles that Andre knows hide beneath the layers of soft fabrics he likes to clothe himself in, in the fierce determination and egotism he needs to form a winning team around himself.

“This is lovely.” Jean-Eric's arms tighten around his waist, his pinky finger slipping just so beneath the waistband of his jeans, touching skin to skin. It's comforting more than sexual and Andre allows himself to fall into it, leaning back against Jean-Eric's body, humming when he feels lips at his neck. It's a soft kiss, just the hint of Jean-Eric's teeth pressed against the skin, no bite to it, before he lets go of Andre, taking a step back.

Andre misses his warmth immediately. He turns around, stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and leans back against the metal railing of the roof top, watching Jean-Eric saunter to the plastic sofa that had been blown away and dragged across the width of the roof top in the storm of the past days, the pictures of the mayhem reaching them before they had boarded the plane for the long-haul around the globe. James had made good work of the hours he had, righting things and throwing out debris and it almost looks like it had before. Seeing Jean-Eric in this setting jars at his nerves in a way Andre can't quite pinpoint.

James' return with three tumblers already filled with amber liquid that Andre knows will be coming from his _good stash_ of the hobby bar he keeps downstairs, handing one to Jean-Eric as he walks by the couch, then comes over to Andre. Their fingers touch momentarily as he hands over the alcohol, the clink of ice cubes in the glass almost swallowed by the noise around them as they clink the glasses together in a careless toast. James copies Andre's posture, leaning back against the railing, crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well?” Jean-Eric asks.

Andre knows he's baiting, but asks anyway. “Well what?”

“Well are you going to kiss again in front of me, or do I have to resort to the mental image for my spank bank?”

Andre blinks, feeling James shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other next to him.

Surprisingly it's James who gets his voice back first. “I was wondering if he'd told you.”

“Of course he did.” There's a certainty in Jean-Eric's voice that Andre himself doesn't feel. He watches Jean-Eric take a slow, measures sip from his whiskey, his eyes narrowing slightly before he gets up, leaving the half finished glass on the table as he walks over, his head leaned to the side. The muscles around his eyes twitch, something like tension, like curiosity. Andre can feel the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, bristling. He doesn't like the way Jean-Eric looks at James. “Or can _I_ kiss you?”

Andre can feel James' eyes flicker to him, but he refuses to meet them, keeps staring at Jean-Eric instead, trying to pin down his mood. “You're drunk.”

Jean-Eric's eyes meet his for a moment, an amused challenge in them. “I'm comfy.” He takes another step closer.

James uncrosses his arms, takes another sip of his drink before he balances the glass on the wide metal handrail, just out of reach of his elbow. “Good to hear that.”

Jean-Eric grins back at him. “You're a good host,” he says and takes another step forwards. He's indecently close now, right in James' personal space. It's not like James could move back, the handrail behind him, but it still nagging at Andre. James looks to the side again, and Andre meets his eyes this time, doesn't know what James is looking for, doesn't know what James or Jean-Eric see; he has no idea what expression is currently on his face. It unnerves him.

Whatever it is they were looking for, they must have found it, because when James looks back at Jean-Eric, there's a twitch in his lip. Jean-Eric moves an inch closer, and James meets him half way, ducking his head to compensate for the couple inches he has on Jean-Eric.

It's like two of his worlds colliding. Heat is pooling in his stomach as he watches their lips touch for the first time, an almost shy pressure that turns into an actual kiss as they lean into it, lips moving against each other, the tip of James' tongue as he licks at Jean-Eric, the way Jean-Eric yields, opening his mouth to him. They're gorgeous together. Andre wants to enjoy it, but a primal part of him bares its teeth at the idea of sharing them, even with each other.

When he looks at Jean-Eric he wants to drag him away, fingers twisted in his hair and baring his throat, marking his skin. He wants to drag him back to James, offer him up at his own conditions, guiding him with his hands in Jean-Eric's hair and his fingers at Jean-Eric's chin. He wants to hear James say his praise and lap up the words for himself.

When he looks at James he wants to drag him away, hand clasped around his shoulder, arms around his waist, and hide him away. Somewhere just he can have him, somewhere where it's just the two of them, somewhere with a lock and the only key in his possession. He wants to kiss James' lips until it's only himself he can taste.

A hand at his side startles him. He looks down, seeing Jean-Eric's fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, feels the gentle pull. He lets himself he dragged forwards into their sides, his chest pressing against Jean-Eric's arm. He hangs his head, closes his eyes as his forehead comes into contact with Jean-Eric's hair, his nose brushing against the shell of his ear. Jean-Eric makes a tiny sound into the kiss, his arm sneaking around Andre's waist, holding him close. Another arm wraps around his shoulders from the other side, gentle fingers at the nape of his neck. He turns his face enough to be able to glance at James, watches them slow, ease out of the kiss, the bruised colour of James' lips, the faint redness of beard scratch around his mouth.

The sense of deja vu startles him, sends a shiver down Andre's spine. Jean-Eric can't know about the familiarity of the set-up, of the thin mist of memories that sneak around Andre and which he sees reflected in James' eyes. It hadn't been a rooftop, but a balcony. It hadn't been Tokyo, but a smaller town close to the race track they were at for the week, testing not racing, the absence of a crowd and excitement of champagne leaving them open for the itchy bite of homesickness and loneliness.

It had been decidedly colder then, the taste of the vodka they had drunk at the back of his throat warming him up as much as the body heat from standing close to each other, shoulder against shoulder as they'd leaned over the railing, the ashes from their cigarettes disappearing in the dark below their balcony four stories up from the empty street.

Andre is pretty sure he'd been the one to make the first move then, although the night is hazy in his memory. It almost startles him now that it's James that leans in, kissing him slowly, licking at his lips until he opens his mouth with a sigh.

They end up on the couch some time later, guided by Jean-Eric's hands. James ends the kiss before he lifts his hands to Andre's chest, giving him a push, making him sprawl backwards. They follow him onto the cushions. Jean-Eric smiles at him and he drags him down, bites at his mouth for another kiss, the force of which surprises himself, the need he feels to claim that is answered by the way Jean-Eric gives into it, allows himself to be manhandled around.

It's too cold outside, too exposed to allow nudity. It helps settle Andre's mind, the lines still blurred enough as to what this is, what it could be; their mindless groping at each other fits his mood and he closes his eyes, enjoys the feel of hands on him, at times not quite sure who's they are; the feel of lips against the skin of his neck while he's kissing the other; the feel of fingers straying just far enough beneath the hem of his shirt, his own fingers feeling around, popping a button on what he knows to be Jean-Eric's shirt, grazing the belt buckle of James' leather belt.

He keeps his eyes closed, feels James shudder next to him as his hand moves lower, kneading at him through the fabric of his denim jeans, feeling the shape of his hard cock. His other hand is tugged into Jean-Eric's hair, holding his head in place to keep kissing him. James moves closer, fitting himself against Andre's side, trapping Andre's hand between his crotch and Andre's thigh. Jean-Eric moves against him too, straddling his other thigh to give himself something to thrust down against, giving Andre something to thrust his hips up for friction at the same time. He moans, breaking their kiss, his fingernails digging into Andre's upper arm through the thin fabric of his shirt. Andre rolls his hips up, the pressure of Jean-Eric's weight above him delicious, irresistible.

Andre opens his eyes then, his breath catching in his throat as he blinks, seeing James and Jean-Eric kissing so close to him again. They're beautiful, he thinks, they're beautiful together, and he stops worrying, allows his brain to shut off and just enjoy the sight, the feeling of their combined body heat and press of bodies against each other, the arousal it fires inside of him. He shuts everything out and lets it be okay.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enough plot, let's get to the smut, right? :P

It was a good idea, James thinks as he sinks into the sofa cushions, to have asked them to stay at his place. He is sipping leisurely from the glass of single malt in his hand, not drunk, not even to get drunk (they've had plenty of that over the last days and he knows his body is going to pay him back, if not today or tomorrow, definitely throughout the weekend when the car demands his everything), just for the warm taste on his tongue, as he watches Jean-Eric go through his vinyl collection on the other side of the living room. He is turning the paper cases over from one end of the shelf, looking at all the covers, picking one or the other up to read the track list on the back.

“I like your taste in music,” he says eventually, glancing over his shoulder across the room. The way his body is crouched down in front of the low shelf makes the curve of his arse stick out, the fabric of his washed out jeans clinging to it. James can't help his eyes lingering, knows that Jean-Eric notices too.

James is still trying to arrange it all in his head, the many facets of the man before him; trying to reconcile the ambitious, sometimes ruthless professional that is now his teammate, with the adorable dork that loves everything cute and furry, with this quiet, almost shy side of him that he's only gotten glimpses of, usually when Andre is around, giving Jean-Eric the chance to fade into the background, to switch off. Andre isn't around now, called away for the day by old friends from his former life on this side of the globe, meeting them and their budding family in their house in the suburbs of Tokyo, leaving Jean-Eric in James' care for the day.

Evidently satisfied with his find, Jean-Eric picks out one of the paper sleeves, carefully shaking the vinyl out of the cover. He holds it in one hand, two long fingers touching the label in the middle, his thumb steadying the disk at the edge as he blows invisible specks of dust off it, leaning sideways to reach the player without having to get up from his crouch. He fiddles with the settings, the needle scratching slightly as he sets it onto the lines, and a moment later the soft sounds of a trombone come from the speakers. It's instrumental jazz, James recognises, a little heavy on the blues, a little less easy-listening than they'd played at his favourite bar earlier in the evening where they'd gone for dinner and a drink. Jean-Eric turns down the volume before he gets up with a content little sigh, picking up his glass from the shelf as he walks over, flopping down on the other end of the couch bonelessly.

“I'm starting to see what you guys like about this place,” Jean-Eric muses, eyes flickering to the side, to the floor to ceiling windows that show the glittering lights of the city, ghostly shapes of the buildings around them, the structures hidden by the darkness. He lifts his legs onto the couch, stretching across the length of it to rest his shins and feet in James' lap.

“I'm happy you're giving it a chance,” James says, his hands inevitably going to Jean-Eric's feet, the softness of his socks, tracing up the delicate bones of his ankle under the hem of his jeans until he can touch skin. “It's fun showing you around. Sometimes I forget how cool it is.”

“It's easy taking something for granted,” Jean-Eric agrees, sighing as he slides a little lower on the cushions, sipping from his glass.

“We need to get you a puppy though,” James teases, smiling when he sees Jean-Eric grin without opening his eyes.

“Oh yeah. A dozen. But not yet. When I'm done travelling.” He hooks his heels behind James' thighs, using the leverage to pull himself closer, more of his legs in James' lap. The curve of his arse presses against the outside of James' thigh. His knee twitches when James runs the tip of his index finger around the frayed edges of an artfully cut hole in Jean-Eric's jeans. James watches him closely, as if he could see the wheels turning in Jean-Eric's head, reading the edge of tension between them. He isn't entirely surprised by the question, though the choice of words jars him a little, telling of Andre's influence. “So, we gonna fuck or what?” He opens one eye to look at James.

James cocks his eyebrows, but lets his hands linger on Jean-Eric's thigh, fingers dipping down to play over the inseam of his jeans. “You think Andre is okay with that?”

Jean-Eric shrugs, squirming against James to set down his tumbler on the floor next to the couch, dig his phone out of his pocket. He swipes his thumb over the display, catching and holding James' eyes as he presses his thumb onto it, lifts the phone to his mouth. “James's gonna fuck me. You okay with that?” he says into the microphone, the intensity of his eyes and bluntness of his words cutting right into James.

“You into that?” James asks as soon as Jean-Eric lowers the phone resting it on his chest. He lifts his glass, drains the last of the whiskey, his throat suddenly dry.

“Yeah,” Jean-Eric answers, flexing his thighs and spreading them a little more. “Come here.” He reaches up to James' shoulder, his neck, and James goes willingly, slumping sideways to insert himself in the space between the back of the couch and Jean-Eric's body, meeting his mouth in a soft kiss. It's chaste almost, exploratory and unhurried. He cups Jean-Eric's cheek, feeling the soft scratch of his stubble under his palm and against his lips, rubs his thumb along the prominent arch of Jean-Eric's cheek bone. Jean-Eric sighs into the kiss, pulling James closer, a little more on top of himself.

The phone vibrates between their chests. James wants to pull back but Jean-Eric follows him, his hold on his neck tightening as he doesn't allow them to be hurried, ending the kiss after another minute or so with a gentle peck to James' lips before he wriggles his fingers between them to get a hold on the phone. He thumbs open the message Andre has sent. It's a wave of rapid-fire French James has no chance of deciphering, but it makes Jean-Eric laugh out loud and then grin mischievously.

“That's not a no,” he says into the phone, then lets go of the little record button and tosses the phone onto the table. He stretches, his chest pushing into James' with the movement, then crosses his arms behind his head, an expectant smirk on his kiss-bruised lips.

Nerves are twisting James' guts; this hadn't seemed real, possible even until about 30 seconds ago, a drawn out tease and flirtation damned to end in some making out, if not less. To cover his insecurity, James leans in for another kiss, needs to feel the reassurance of Jean-Eric's lips on his, the taste of his mouth, chasing the last hints of whiskey from his tongue. Jean-Eric hums into the kiss, cards his fingers through James' hair, squirming against him to hook a leg over James' hips, draw him close. One of James' hands wanders down the soft fabric of his t shirt to where it's rucked up slightly, touching warm skin. Jean-Eric makes another pleasurable sound at the back of his throat.

It's Jean-Eric that pushes him away eventually, whispering _bed?_ into the space between their lips followed by another gentle peck. James nods, moaning when he shifts to kneel on the couch, the movement momentarily pressing his hard cock against the firm jut of Jean-Eric's hip bone. In the bedroom, James makes a beeline for the nightstand, watching Jean-Eric from the side as he follows him into the room, stripping out of his t shirt as he goes, toeing off his socks. He falls into the crumpled sheets on James' bed.

“You look cosy,” James says, kneeling on the edge of the mattress, waiting for Jean-Eric to reach out for him again. Jean-Eric grabs him by the waistband of his jeans, and James can't help his hips from bucking forwards a little as Jean-Eric's fingers curl against his skin as he tugs on James' jeans.

“Do you like making me wait?” Jean-Eric asks, his accent thickened with lust, his eyes dark.

James grins, dragging his shirt up over his head to toss it away, enjoying the hungry gaze Jean-Eric eyes him with. The Frenchman's fingers are still at the waistband of his jeans, and Jean-Eric curls them further, pushing his fingers down between the fabric and his skin, his fingers groping for his dick blindly. He allows himself to be dragged forwards, moaning when he feels skin against skin, buries his face into Jean-Eric's neck.

Jean-Eric pushes his head back into the pillow to expose more of his neck for James to press his lips against, lick over his pulse point. He can feel Jean-Eric's fingers in his hair, steering him back up for a slow kiss. “You okay though?” Jean-Eric asks into the kiss, between teasing swipes of his tongue over James' lips. “You seem a little, ah, distracted.”

James can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. “Yeah, just,” he groans quietly as they shift, insinuating a leg between Jean-Eric's pushing down to rub against him. “I haven't, you know, done that.”

Jean-Eric pulls back enough to catch his gaze, his smile lazy and confused for a moment before it turns downright dirty. “That true?” he asks, his voice a deep drawl.

James half shrugs, the motion awkward with the way he's holding himself up over Jean-Eric. “You know Andre.”

“Oh yeah,” Jean-Eric agrees. “But I thought... I mean, you two haven't been... exclusive or anything.”

The conversation makes James feel awkward, taking away some of the arousal he felt, despite the heat that's still crawling under his skin and Jean-Eric's eyes on him. “But I haven't had sex with other guys.”

Jean-Eric's eyebrow quirks in amusement. “Does he know that?” he asks, the smirk back wide on his lips, growing wider when he sees James shake his head a fraction. “Oh god, he's gonna love that.” He leans back up, pressing a kiss to James' lips. “You're amazing, you know?” he murmurs. “And I really, really want you to fuck me.” He pushes up with his hips, rubbing his groin against James' leg. “Gonna show you how good it feels.”

James laughs lightly, allowing himself to be dragged under, allowing Jean-Eric to distract his thoughts. “You seem awfully confident.”

Jean-Eric hums as he pushes his heel into the mattress, giving himself enough leverage to turn them over, to roll on top of James. He sits up, grinding his hips down purposefully and James can't help the needy groan that escapes him. Jean-Eric's hands are back at his waistband, popping the button and pulling the zipper down, spreading the fabric away from his crotch. With a grin, he leans down, bites at the soft skin around James' belly button, nibs at the trail of hair low on his stomach.

James reaches down, twisting his fingers into Jean-Eric's hair. His hips roll up to meet his tongue, feeling him lick lower towards the waistband of his boxer shorts. His tongue tickles along the sensitive skin there.

“Up,” Jean-Eric prompts, lifting his weight onto his knees, giving James just enough room to push up his arse. His grasp tightens on James' jeans and he pulls them down to mid thigh, freeing his cock. “Pretty,” he murmurs before leaning down again, licking a broad stripe up the underside of James' dick. James moans. The fabric of his jeans restricts his movement. He wants to spread his legs, make room for Jean-Eric to settle between them, but Jean-Eric's knees are on either side of his legs, holding him in place as he licks and mouths around James' cock leisurely.

“You're going to feel so good in me,” Jean-Eric says, glancing up. He rolls his back, then kneels up, towering over James as his hands go to his own belt buckle. His gaze is hungry as he stares down, drinking up the wide expanse of James' naked chest, the lighter skin around his hips and the top of his thighs. He makes quick work of his jeans, pushing them down unceremoniously along with his underwear and grabs his straining cock. James can't help the small groan that escapes his lips at the sight, watching Jean-Eric stroke himself. “You got lube?”

James nods in the direction of the night stand. Jean-Eric leans over him, and James pushes up, licking over his pecs as Jean-Eric rummages around in the top drawer, coming back with a tube and some condoms a moment later. He dips down to kiss James again, and then moves to his side, stretching out along the length of him. “Get naked,” Jean-Eric prompts.

“You're bossy, you know?” James says but doesn't really mind. “Does Andre let you get away with that?”

Jean-Eric grins. “No.” He's wriggling out of his jeans too, freeing his long, lean legs. James grabs for him as soon as he's shed his own jeans, drawing him back in for a long, deep kiss. His hands roam over Jean-Eric's back, along the shifting muscles under his skin, taking him all in. When they'd kissed two nights earlier, it had all been eager, drunk making out, hands under layers of clothes, rutting against each other. It had felt hurried, like lingering too long would break the spell. Now that it's just the two of them, it feels like he's allowed to explore at his own pace, to take the other in completely. He pushes one hand down along Jean-Eric's spine to the roundness of his ass, grabs a handful, enjoying the breathless little moan Jean-Eric can't keep in as he draws him close, the damp heat of Jean-Eric's cock against his hip. There's a bruise on Jean-Eric's shoulder, the washed out purple of a faded bite mark, and James sets his teeth to it, feeling Jean-Eric shudder and his hips buck against him when he bites down, sucks to renew the mark.

Jean-Eric's hand covers his that's still grabbing onto his arse, pushing James' fingers down and between his cheeks. “Come on, enough teasing,” he murmurs. There's some fumbling, and then James can feel the cold slipperiness of lube slide over his fingers, Jean-Eric squeezing a healthy amount from the tube all over their fingers. It's cool and he can't help shuddering, squirming against James' side. It's a strange feeling. He's never done this with Andre; he's never done this with any of his girl friends, the effort of working someone open never as inviting as the wet heat of a willing pussy. He's tried it on himself, but the strangeness of it had put him off; the times Andre had done it to him it had been a struggle, the need for closeness and the will to please him overpowering the discomfort he'd felt at the time, but in the end they had barely done it more than a couple times this way: Andre had always seemed content enough with using their hands, using their mouths on each other, sometimes just rutting against each other through the fabric of their race suits or jeans to take the edge of. It hadn't been something he'd pursued, not craved for, longed for in the way Jean-Eric is displaying as he's pushing his ass back against James' fingers in invitation.

“Come on,” Jean-Eric whines, adding something in French that sounds somewhere between a plea and a curse. James circles his hole with his fingers, pressing the tip of his index finger slowly into him. There's not a lot of resistance, but he still moans at the tight feel of Jean-Eric around his finger, slowly pushing in deeper.

“Yeah,” Jean-Eric breathes and pushes back. His hand leaves James', letting him explore and push into him by himself, handing over control, and James is so concentrated on working his finger into him that Jean-Eric's slick hand wrapping around his cock catches him by surprise. He thrusts up into his hand, moaning, his concentration shot. He curls his finger without even thinking and Jean-Eric groans in return. “Do it quicker,” he urges on. “I can take more. God, I want your cock.”

James nods distractedly, pulling out, pushing back in with two fingers, and god, it feels tight. He can't imagine fitting in there. “Don't want to hurt you,” he says, his own voice rough, and turning into a moan when Jean-Eric bites at his neck, squeezes his cock again.

“You won't,” he says, voice breathless but certain. He pushes back into James' fingers, hips moving rhythmically, rubbing his dick against James' hip. He gropes blindly across the blanket, picking up the condom he tossed there earlier, ripping it open with his teeth. Jean-Eric has to sit up to get enough coordination to roll it down James' cock, taking a breath as he does, the shift in position pushing him down deeper onto James' fingers. With a sigh, he flops to the side on the wide bed, his face on the same pillow as James, just gazing at him for a moment before he quirks his eyebrow in challenge. “You ready?”

“Sure you had enough?” James asks, a bit of insecurity returning, twisting his fingers inside Jean-Eric and watching as he lifts his hips, thrusting up into the air.

Jean-Eric bites his lip. “Yeah,” he says, his eyes glassy with lust. “Come on, I want to feel you.”

“How do you...?” James asks. Jean-Eric has the audacity to roll his eyes as he reaches for him, spreading his legs so James can settle between them, unashamed as James watches him, the way he puts himself on display, all that naked skin and muscles. He wraps his legs around James' waist pulling himself close. There's no doubt this is happening any more. James places his hands on Jean-Eric's thighs, squeezing the strong muscles there for a moment before one of his hands travels down to Jean-Eric's ass, pushing him up, holding him in place as his other hand grabs his own dick, leading it to Jean-Eric's wet hole. The sound Jean-Eric makes when James pushes into him is purely pornographic, a deep moan that shudders through his whole body. His legs tighten, insistent pressure against James' back so that he can't pull back, urging him forwards, making him sink into Jean-Eric's tight heat.

Fuck, it feels good. Not entirely unfamiliar, he's had too many girls in the past to be surprised by the clinging, squeezing feel around his dick, but there's something in the way that Jean-Eric pulls him in, something about the unrelenting pressure and the way that Jean-Eric arches off the bed beneath him that takes his breath away.

He's barely pushed in all the way, barely caught his breath before Jean-Eric urges him on with a growled _move_. He nods and pulls back, thrusting back in almost immediately and Jean-Eric arches again, his face blanching out in pleasure.

“You really are into this,” James says, his voice hoarse and tight, pleasure spreading through his body at the tight squeeze around his cock. He thrusts back in, trying to find a rhythm, trying to hold onto Jean-Eric's hip and steady him so that he can get the upper hand, feel like he's at least somewhat in control here, but Jean-Eric keeps urging him on, making his rhythm falter again and again.

“Feels so good,” Jean-Eric brings out between two thrusts, writhing underneath James. It's more of a struggle than the smooth love making he's experienced with his last girl friends; it doesn't feel fluid, they haven't found a groove. Jean-Eric is aimlessly touching him, fingers digging into his shoulders, his biceps, stroking down over his chest. It's arousing and unnerving at the same time. James reaches down, grabs for Jean-Eric's wrists. He can feel the jut of his wrist bones and sinew through the thin layers of skin, squeezing just enough to get a good hold of him and brings his arms up over his head, stretching him out on the mattress, pushing his hands into the pillows.

Jean-Eric's eyes snap open, a soft whine on his lips. A full body shiver is running through his body, leaving a thin sheen of goosebumps behind. He arches up, enough so that his chest almost touches James, the damp heat of his cock momentarily trapped between their lower bellies, and all but melts into the mattress, all fight going out of him. He moans something in French, hips bucking up against James, and James gets drawn out of his reverie, pulled back into the moment.

He squeezes Jean-Eric's wrists again, more a confirmation of his hold than a threat, and Jean-Eric makes another whining noise, going pliant beneath James' touch. It's easier now to establish a rhythm, to let himself fall into the other, and before long they're moving in sync, the sounds of sex filling the air around them. It's easier now that Jean-Eric has given up trying to take control, the slide into him getting easier with every thrust as he relaxes more, and James closes his eyes, giving himself over to the sensation, just taking everything in: the feel of the wet heat around his dick, the squeeze of Jean-Eric's legs around his waist, the suppressed strength in the arms he's still pinning down, the accumulated heat between them. He lets go of one of his wrists, and Jean-Eric makes no attempt to pull it down, to reach for James, just keeps it above his head. It gives James the freedom to stroke his palm down Jean-Eric's chest, rake his fingernails over the muscles of his flank, scratch across a nipple to make Jean-Eric squirm more.

He runs his palm all the way to Jean-Eric's waist, cupping his hipbone with his hand. He shifts, shuffling forwards on his knees, the urge to bend Jean-Eric in half, to lean down and kiss him overtaking him, but a loud moan from Jean-Eric stops him halfway, the sudden tightening of Jean-Eric's legs around his waist keeping him in place.

“There,” Jean-Eric groans through clenched teeth, releasing James' hips just enough for him to pull back, thrust in again, but not enough to significantly change the angle, and Jean-Eric throws his head back into the pillows on the next thrust, his whole body shuddering. “Right there.”

Too bewildered to do much else, James just keeps thrusting into him, watching with fascination as Jean-Eric falls apart beneath him, the curses falling from his lips in a mix of French and English. He lets go of Jean-Eric's other wrist as well, using both hands to give himself leverage against the mattress, his hips piston into his body. The flush that's been building on Jean-Eric's face spreads down to his chest, the heat from his skin turning up another notch. He brings down one of his hands, grabbing for his own cock that's trapped between their bodies, giving it a squeeze that has him close his eyes. He looks wild and debauched, and James can't look away, drinks in the sight of him, too distracted to actually help get him off with anything more coordinated than the steady, strong thrust of his hips.

“Close,” Jean-Eric breathes out between moans, his eyes blinking open just enough to lock gazes with James for a second before he pushes his head back into the pillows as come starts to spill from his cock.

James curses at the sight, the pearly droplets that fall onto Jean-Eric's chest, his stomach, then moans when he feels Jean-Eric clench down around him, trapping his dick inside his arse, and he hadn't realised how close he was himself, another jerky thrust or two and he's following him over the edge, feels his cock throb, spills into the condom. Jean-Eric keeps his legs around his waist, locking them together, and it almost feels like too much, all that spasming heat around him as he thrusts in a couple times more, deep but short rolls of his hips that make Jean-Eric whine and shiver. He pushes forwards with a final thrust, then hangs his head to take a couple deep breaths, suspended above Jean-Eric's body, weight resting on his hands on either side of Jean-Eric's head, his orgasm rushing through his body. Jean-Eric's open arms await him as he sinks down, burying his head in the crook of Jean-Eric's neck, breathing him in. He closes his eyes, just wallowing in their combined warmth until Jean-Eric pokes him gently in the side, turning his head to nip at James' ear.

“You good?” Jean-Eric asks, his voice breathless, and James realises that he's crushing him, but only reluctantly shifts to the side, reaching down to hold onto Jean-Eric's hip, making him keep his legs slung around James' hip, keeping them connected as he rolls to the side.

“'m good,” he murmurs, kissing Jean-Eric's neck, his collar bone, leaning in for a deep, slow kiss that Jean-Eric welcomes, their tongues tangling lazily. He feels content and warm, his muscles loose and his mind finally quiet after the thoughts and worries that had rushed through him so often during the last days.

Jean-Eric eventually makes him let go, frees himself from their close embrace. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, looking down at James, studying his face. “I like that fucked out look,” he says and then makes James stay in bed as he gets up to take care of the clean-up, hips swaying as he walks naked towards the en-suite, well aware of James' eyes on him.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the night from last chapter.
> 
> This was supposed to be the last chapter, but while editing I felt like I needed a little more to round it off, so there will be one more which isn't quite done yet, which I'll hopefully be able to post this weekend. For now, enjoy the porn :D

The flat is nightly quiet by the time Andre lets himself in through the door. He stalls for a moment, just listening, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness that's never entirely dark, not with the hundreds of city lights shining in through the floor lengths windows in all the rooms. There's no sign of movement though, no voices, and he tries to be quiet as he sets down his bag, strips out of his jacket and shoes. He moves through the flat, sticks his head into the guest bedroom but the bed is empty, like he had expected after the messages Jean-Eric had sent him earlier. The door to James' bedroom is at the end of the hallway and he pushes it open quietly, happy to see the lump of their bodies undefined by the blanket they're curled up in.

They look peaceful, sharing a pillow, their heads close together if not touching, their bodies angled towards each other. One of James' arms is slung over Jean-Eric's shoulder. Andre watches them for a moment, then starts stripping out of his clothes, walking back out into the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash some water on his face, staring at his tired eyes for a moment in the huge mirror. He scratches absent-mindedly over his naked stomach, rubs a hand through his hair, feeling the residue of the styling products he used earlier.

His eyes have adjusted to the dim light in the bedroom by the time he returns. He sees the heaps of shed clothes, the mess they are on the floor, notices their underwear amongst them. That makes the finale decision for him, stepping out of his briefs as he walks over to the bed. He wants to be naked with them, desperate for that skin on skin feeling.

Jean-Eric makes a little noise in his sleep as Andre lifts the blanket, slipping in between the sheets with them. The scent of sex is more pronounced here and Andre takes in a deep breath as he curls around Jean-Eric's back, moulding his body along Jean-Eric's form. He carefully slips a hand around his waist, resting his palm low on Jean-Eric's stomach, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing, feeling the heat of James' skin against the back of his hand. He nuzzles along the back of Jean-Eric's neck, taking in his scent, licks over his skin.

Another soft noise, and Andre feels Jean-Eric's hand covering his, twining their fingers together. He squeezes back, tightening his arm around Jean-Eric's waist and then moves back a little when he feels Jean-Eric roll against him and onto his back, blinking up sleepily at him but with a soft smile on his lips. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Andre answers and leans in for a kiss. Jean-Eric is all pliant beneath him, opening up to his tongue, allowing Andre to explore, to search for any hints of James' taste he still expects to find. He licks at the seam of Jean-Eric's lips when he draws back, nuzzles his cheek and then curls around Jean-Eric's back again, hiding his face against his neck, in his hair. His tongue flicks against the shell of his ear. “You liked that, didn't you?” he asks playfully. “Sending those messages earlier, knowing I couldn't do anything about it?”

Jean-Eric moans quietly, body undulating against Andre's, rubbing his arse against Andre's cock. “You liked it too. Still do,” he murmurs, circling his hips and Andre bites his neck to stifle his own moan, hips snapping forwards as he bucks against Jean-Eric's arse.

“You little minx, I've been hard for hours,” he complains heartfelt, and it's true, the surge of lust he'd felt earlier at the first message Jean-Eric had sent had quelled a little, moved to the back of his mind after he had replied, after he'd entertained the images they evoked for a minute or two, but it had festered there. “Did he fuck you good?”

“He did,” Jean-Eric says. He takes Andre's hand, lifts it to his lips, presses a chaste kiss to his knuckles before licking over his fingers, prompting Andre to push them into his mouth, his tongue lavishing them, coating them in saliva. Andre groans, pressing his lips against Jean-Eric's neck, marking the skin there as Jean-Eric drags his fingers from his mouth, pushing them beneath the blanket to his arse, shifting forwards just enough to make space between them. He lets go then, allowing Andre to explore on his own, drag his fingers across Jean-Eric's crease, push in between his arse cheeks, circle his hole. He is not really loose, but he's relaxed and soft and Andre can easily breach him with two fingers, eliciting a hot little noise from Jean-Eric, a breathy whimper. “Fuck me,” Jean-Eric keens, pushing his arse back onto Andre's fingers.

“Behind you.”

The voice startles them both. Andre's eyes snap open to meet James' in the dark, his mouth still at Jean-Eric's neck, sucking a mark into his skin.

“Lube. Night stand behind you,” James repeats, and Jean-Eric whimpers, whimpers again when Andre pulls his fingers free, twisting just enough to reach the night stand, the tube he finds on it. He pushes the blanket away for easier access, baring their naked bodies, their entwined legs.

“I thought you fucked him good,” Andre says once he's caught himself, can't help the tease as he smears lube over his fingers, bringing them back down to Jean-Eric's arse.

James smiles in the darkness, reaching out to slide his palm over Jean-Eric's chest, down his stomach, wrapping it around his cock that's already hard and straining between them. “He's greedy.” James' eyes are unreadable in the darkness, but there's heat in his voice. Jean-Eric makes a desperate sound between them when Andre pushes his fingers back into him, the slide now eased by the lube, by how turned on he is, and it's no time at all until he's easily taking three of Andre's fingers.

“Please, Andre,” Jean-Eric whines, pushing back onto the fingers inside him shamelessly, and it breaks what little patience Andre had left. He pulls his fingers out, coating his dick with a generous amount of lube and then thrusts into Jean-Eric in one smooth, firm shove.

“Fuck, you two look incredible,” James says breathlessly, his hand slowly stroking up and down Jean-Eric's cock, way too slowly to be anything more than a tease. Jean-Eric makes a needy noise and with a look that's almost a plea for permission, James leans in, catching Jean-Eric's lips in an open mouthed kiss, eating the noises right out of his mouth.

James moves closer, pressing up along Jean-Eric's front. His hand leaves Jean-Eric's cock, holding his head instead to better kiss him, but he presses his thigh forwards to give Jean-Eric something to move against, a counter point to Andre's steady thrusts. Andre watches them kiss, mesmerised by how Jean-Eric just gives in, allowing himself to be plundered, his mouth slack under James' tongue and teeth, his body turning to putty between them, giving in to their assault.

“You two are so hot together,” James says when he leans back to look at them. His hand wanders from Jean-Eric's chin to Andre's cheek. Andre preens under the gentle touch, rubbing his cheek against James' palm and then closes his eyes when James leans towards him, over Jean-Eric's shoulder to kiss him languidly. Andre sinks into it, into James' clever tongue and the tight heat of Jean-Eric's ass around his cock, the strong body in his arms, and when James reaches down, fingers clawing into Andre's arse to feel the flex as he thrusts into Jean-Eric's body it's the last thing he needs to be pushed over the edge, coming into Jean-Eric's body, the desperate sound he can feel in his throat lost to James' kiss.

Jean-Eric is quivering between them by the time Andre's head is starting to clear. He draws back from James' mouth, ending the kiss to nuzzle into Jean-Eric's hair. He can't see Jean-Eric's face as it is buried against James' shoulder, but his chest is rising and falling rapidly with his harsh breathing.

It's a moment's decision, an image that floats to the surface of his fucked out mind, and they should talk about it, more than the whispered _trust me?_ Andre whispers into Jean-Eric's ear, the jerked nod he gets in return. Andre knows that James is clean, that he passed the quarterly health check as well as they all did, but he asks anyway, not only for confirmation, but just to see the reaction on James' face, the way his eyes widen perceptively, the way Jean-Eric shudders in his arms at the implications that question brings.

Andre reaches for James' hand, brings it down to where his cock is still breaching Jean-Eric's body, presses James' fingers there. Jean-Eric makes a broken sound muffled into James' skin as Andre slowly withdraws. He presses James' fingers into Jean-Eric as soon as his cock has slipped free, pushing in easily slicked by the lube and his own come. “Just like a wet pussy, right?” he says and Jean-Eric keens, his hips twitching forwards against James' body.

James is holding Andre's gaze, his eyes slightly narrowed. Andre can feel James' fingers flexing next to his hand, fucking Jean-Eric slowly, just enough to keep him on edge. “You want me to?” he asks, a little bit of insecurity swinging in his voice, but he's breathless, turned on, his eyes all dark in the dim light of the room.

Andre smirks, leaning down to bite at Jean-Eric's neck once more. “Well, I already missed the show earlier, didn't I.” He runs his fingers around Jean-Eric's throat, to his jaw, twisting his head enough that he can see his face. “Okay?”

“Please,” Jean-Eric whispers, eyes closed in bliss.

They turn Jean-Eric between them, shift him like they please until he's curled up on his other side, back to James, his head resting on one of James' arm. Andre cups his cheek, kissing him slowly as he moves in close, giving Jean-Eric something to hold on to. He draws back, seeing from the corner of his eyes as James' reaches between them, probably lining himself up, and Andre waits, his focus on Jean-Eric's face, on the small frown between his eyebrows as James breaches him, thrusting in, the sharp inhale of breath and the shiver that runs over his skin.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers, kissing Jean-Eric's slack lips, eating up the little noises he makes as James starts fucking him. He reaches down to steady Jean-Eric, hand bumping into James' that's also resting to Jean-Eric's hip, and their fingers entwine for a moment.

“Fuck, Andre,” James moans.

“Yeah, I'm here,” he says, leaning up to look at James, at the way he bites his lip between his teeth, the wild expression on his face. He yelps and Andre sees that Jean-Eric has turned his head, teeth biting into James' biceps.

“Close,” Jean-Eric murmurs when Andre cups his cheek, his eyelids fluttering as he tries to control his breathing.

“Oh, not yet,” Andre says and pushes his hand down between their bodies. He can feel the slick of Jean-Eric's precome smeared between their bellies, the residue of lube and come on his own cock adding to the mess, and reaches for Jean-Eric's cock, clamping his fingers around the base of it tightly.

“Fuck,” Jean-Eric gasps, hips bucking forwards uselessly. Andre just absorbs the motion, his fingers not giving even an inch around the hot heat of Jean-Eric's throbbing cock.

“It's your decision, Jev,” Andre muses, stroking the fingers of his other hand through Jean-Eric's hair gently, in stark contrast to the vice like hold on his cock. “Of course I can let you come now, but James is gonna keep fucking you until he's done, not gonna stop a second earlier. You want that? You want him to keep fucking you even when you're done, when you're so sensitive you can't stand it any more?” Jean-Eric is twisting against him, his dick pulsing in his palm. He's so hard, but Andre is easily rendering him helpless. Spunk is leaking from the tip of his cock, a slow, steady stream.

“I can see how good you feel for James,” Andre says, glancing sideways over Jean-Eric's shoulder to catch James' eyes. “Squeeze, babe,” he prompts, and he can see that Jean-Eric does in the way James' breath hitches, in the soft moan on his lips. “Again.”

It's a wicked game, Jean-Eric following his command, seeing the results in James' pleasure. Andre feels heady with it, can feel his own cock twitching where it's pressed up against Jean-Eric's belly, an almost uncomfortable squeeze that puts just the right amount of pain in the mix to keep him focused, to not lose himself too deep in their depravity. He wishes he was twenty, wishes he could go again just for a chance to fuck into Jean-Eric after James is done with him, to pass him back and forth between them all night.

“Next time we're gonna put a cock ring on you, so I got my hands free,” Andre says. Jean-Eric is a sweaty mess, barely reacting to the words. Andre nips at his jaw, licks over the salty skin to get his attention. “I'm gonna let go of you, but you're not going to come, right? You're going to be good and wait.” Jean-Eric whimpers, not really a confirmation, his voice turning into a harsh moan when Andre lets go of his cock, all three of them freezing for a moment, waiting to see if Jean-Eric can muster enough control over his body. “Good boy,” Andre praises, kissing him gently. The sound Jean-Eric makes is almost a sob. He looks over Jean-Eric's shoulder at James. “You close?”

James nods, his face tense. Andre shifts far enough to kiss him, almost chastely, on his bitten lips, then worms his fingers in between their bodies, finding the spot where James is thrusting into Jean-Eric's body steadily, slow, deep, drawn out thrusts. Andre plays his fingers through the wet mess between their bodies, shuddering at the thought that at least parts of it is his own come. He digs his fingernails into the soft flesh of Jean-Eric's arse.

“Don't come,” he repeats, and circles his fingertip over the stretched rim of Jean-Eric's hole. James and Jean-Eric both moan loudly. Andre smirks, then presses his finger in slowly. It's crazy how slick and hot and pliant Jean-Eric is between them, how tight, snug he fits around them.

“Andre, ah,” he whimpers and then he's clamping down around the combined stretch of James' cock and Andre's finger inside him, his body shuddering in release. Hot spurts of come are jerking from his untouched cock, painting the skin on both their bellies. James fucks him through it, his thrusts losing their rhythm though, just quick stutters of his hips that Andre counters with the movement of his finger, causing more tremors in Jean-Eric's muscles.

James comes a minute later with a constant murmur of _oh yeahs_ and _fuck_ falling from his lips, his eyes closed, head thrown back. Andre can see the knuckle white grip he has on Jean-Eric's hip, can feel the wetness of his spunk spread inside Jean-Eric with the small rolling motions James still makes into him. Andre withdraws his finger, wipes his hand on Jean-Eric's side, kissing away the small annoyed frown that wrinkles his nose, and then wraps his arm all the way around them to rest his hand on James' back, drawing him close, kissing him over Jean-Eric's shoulder.

“You guys are squashing me,” Jean-Eric eventually complains, his voice sleepy and soft, a warm huff against Andre's chest.

“You love it really,” Andre murmurs but pulls back a little, giving him some space. He looks down, making sure that there's only pleasure on Jean-Eric's face, a content smile around his lips. Jean-Eric sighs, not opening his eyes as he snuggles back against James' chest. Andre can see them both start to shiver slightly as the heat they'd worked up starts dissipating, the sweat starting to dry on their bodies. The blanket has disappeared somewhere, pushed off the mattress. His eyes move down Jean-Eric's body, the glistening trails of their come on his skin, the still flushed colour of his cock, the bruises forming on his hips where they'd both grasped for him.

Andre moves back to the edge of the mattress, sitting up. “Stay,” he says when he sees James perk up as if wanting to follow. He grins as he gets up, flexes his toes into the carpet. He goes into the bathroom, wets a wash cloth, cleans himself up quickly, then rinses it out again, taking it and a fluffy towel back into the bedroom.

James has sat up too, drinking from a bottle on the night stand. He holds out his hand for Andre to toss him the wash cloth, but Andre walks around the bed to James' side, sits down at the edge of the mattress. With a hand in the centre of James' chest he pushes him back into the pillows.

“Let me,” Andre says, and leans in for a kiss as he starts running the wash cloth over James' stomach and thighs, down between them. He can feel the tension in James' body at the urge to intervene, to do it himself, but he doesn't budge. He wants to do this, needs to do this, he thinks as he gently runs the wash cloth over the length of James' cock, over his balls, feeling the shiver that runs through James at the touch to overly sensitive skin and nerves. He ends the kiss to look at James' body, exchanging the damp cloth for the towel to remove the lingering dampness, seeing that Jean-Eric has moved over, is nipping with his teeth at James' shoulder.

“Don't get him dirty again,” Andre admonishes with a raised eyebrow and smirk at Jean-Eric's debauched state, smile widening when he sees Jean-Eric stick out his tongue. “You're next.”

Andre climbs over James' body to kneel over Jean-Eric, turning him onto his back. He leans in for a kiss, softly opening Jean-Eric's mouth with his tongue as his hands run the cloth over every inch of his chest, starting at his collar bone, slowly working his way down to his stomach. Jean-Eric sighs into him, allowing his legs to splay open wantonly, giving Andre space to clean him up.

He can feel James' watchful eyes on them, on him, as he moves Jean-Eric's limbs around. He sits back to clean between Jean-Eric's arse cheeks, spreading them with his fingers, watching as Jean-Eric involuntary flexes his arse in return, a drop of milky spunk sliding from his used hole. Andre's eyes flicker up to meet Jean-Eric's, sure that the urge to lean down and taste them - all three of them together - to lick the come out of his arse must be written all over his face. He swallows heavily, forcing that thought away, returning to the task at hand.

“Enough,” Jean-Eric tells him eventually, catching his wrist and pulling him down onto him. Andre follows, wanting to move over like they'd lain earlier, but Jean-Eric rolls them so that Andre ends up in the middle of the bed, the other two on either side of him. James leans over the edge of the bed to snatch up a corner of the blanket, dragging it over them, covering them all beneath the soft linens.

“Thank you,” Jean-Eric murmurs as he cuddles close, his head resting on Andre's chest, arranging Andre's arm to come up over his shoulder and hold him close. His legs entwine with Andre's under the blanket. Andre presses a kiss to the crown of his head, then turns his head when he feels James curl close to him on his other side.

James looks at him through the near darkness, his hand cupping Andre's cheek as he kisses him. Andre closes his eyes, allows James to lead the kiss, opens his lips obediently when James licks into his mouth. “You were holding out on me,” James says quietly, amusement colouring his voice. Andre hums, not quite knowing what James is implying. “If you'd told me how good it feels,” he says, nibbling at Andre's lips in between words. “I'd have wanted to fuck your ass years ago.”

Andre lifts his hand to the nape of James' neck, twisting his fingers into the soft hair there. He tugs lightly, not enough to cause him pain, more to get his attention. “You've gotta be a good boy to get that,” he murmurs, still feeling James nip at his lips.

“I can do that,” James says and nuzzles Andre's cheek, sighing sleepily as he sinks down into the pillows, sharing one with Andre. Their faces are a couple inches apart. Andre watches as James closes his eyes, and rubs his fingers along the back of James' neck, a soft massage. “I want to be good for you,” James murmurs, his voice lazy, crashing quickly into sleep now.

Andre can feel his heart skip a beat. “You are,” he whispers, but whether James heard it he doesn't know.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I lied! There will be one more part. I just wanted to add one more sex scene, but apparently the boys need to do some emotional angsting and stuff before, so this chapter is that, and then there will be one more sex scene to round it all off, hopefully I'll have it done by next weekend. Thank you people for your patience! xoxo

Jean-Eric wakes slowly to the quiet murmur of voices and the warmth of bedding and shared body heat. He basks in it, still more asleep than awake, letting the sound of talking filter through his senses without picking up on the meaning. He can feel the bed move, the body next to his shifting towards him. He's curled up on his side, facing away from the other. Warm arms are slowly encircling him from behind and it brings back images of the night before. His mind plays through them like a disjointed fast forward on the back of his eyelids. He feels into his skin, into his bones and muscles, cataloguing the little aches and gentle soreness to go along with the images.

Stretching out his legs brings him a little closer to the body behind him, the arm around his waist tightening, the palm a heavy pressure where it's splayed over his chest. It feels claustrophobic for a moment, making it hard to draw a breath, and Jean-Eric struggles against it, against the feeling of too much. His hands, still uncoordinated from sleep and the haze that settles into his mind from time to time, bat almost uselessly at the arm around him, but the other gets the gist, pulling back a little, giving him room to breathe, moving away all together after a moment, but the warmth along his back stays.

“Relax,” he can hear Andre say close to his ear, and Jean-Eric does, the tension in his body slowly unwinding again. He only notices after some time that they're breathing in sync, not sure who adjusted the soothing rhythm of their inhale - exhale to fall in line with the other, but it helps ground him, pulling him more into wakefulness, into reality.

Jean-Eric shuffles until he's turned around, blinking into the grey morning light that's falling through the windows behind Andre, blurring his vision until he has reached up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Andre answers with a lazy smile. Their hands are clasped on the blanket between them. Jean-Eric looks down at them, at the familiar weave of their fingers. He flexes his fingers, but his arms still feel too long for his body, his hands too far away from him. “Wow, you're still out of it,” Andre says and moves his head closer, bumping their foreheads against each other. “You alright?”

Jean-Eric nods, forming words seems like too much a hassle.

“Was it too much?” Andre asks, an insecurity shimmering in his voice, in the frown between his eyebrows that Jean-Eric has seen in the past, crept up again and again when they'd found another boundary in their relationship and prodded at it, pushed it to test its strength or broke it for something new. They hadn't all been sexual; Jean-Eric's thought meandering into memories of their first kiss after their banter had pushed them too far not to act on it, of their clash after Santiago, of Andre admitting to need help with setting up the car, of Jean-Eric offering up a spare key to his flat in Paris.

Was it too much though? Jean-Eric isn't sure. There's still warring emotions swirling in him, not at all sorted through yet. But the feeling on top of the stack that floats back to the surface now is the warmth of their bodies around him, the steady strength of their hands on him, the feel that they'd hold onto him no matter into how many pieces he'd shatter. He shakes his head a little. “Not too much,” he decides, and watches that little frown disappear from between Andre's eyebrows, some tension seeping from his face.

“That's good.” He smiles, letting go of Jean-Eric's fingers to cup his cheek, stroke the pad of his thumb over his cheekbone.

“Where's James?” Jean-Eric asks after a while.

“Gone to get breakfast,” Andre tells him. “Want to go have a shower?”

Jean-Eric shakes his head, the bed still too cosy around him. “Nah, go ahead.”

It's nice, looking out of the window, at the swirling grey clouds and their reflections in the window panes of the high-rises around them, listening to the sounds in the flat: the rush of water of Andre's shower, the sound of the door opening and closing, footsteps on the carpeted floor, the rumbling of James' elaborate coffee machine, the soft noises of talking muffled through the walls when Andre joins James in the kitchen. It's the scent of coffee that eventually lures him out of bed.

He decides to go have a shower first, the room still steamed up from Andre earlier, the tiles in the shower wet, the mirror fogged up with condensation. Jean-Eric leans across the sink, wipes at it with the flat of his hand. His face looks blotchy around the drops of water clinging to the sheer surface of the mirror, the skin around his collar bones and across his shoulder darkened with bruises and marks. He touches the tender skin, rubs at it with his fingers. He finds more marks of them while he is under the shower, lavishing body scrub onto his skin: bruises around his hips, the flaky residue of dried spunk in the crease of his thighs, the tender soreness in his muscles.

Jean-Eric doesn't know why it irks him, as his fingers slide over the purpled skin of his hips, the small points of bruises showing the vague span of a hand. He rests his own on top of it, and can't really tell who was the one to cause it. He touches a bite mark on the soft muscle of his shoulder and doesn't remember who's teeth marked him there, just remembers the sensation of them around him, of the press of their bodies and the pleasure it gave him. It scares him a little how much he wanted it, unsettles him how easily he allowed himself to be swept away.

He leaves the bathroom on unsteady legs, wrapped in a towel, goes to the guest room where his suitcase is still open on the floor by the wall and picks out something to wear, some jeans and a shirt, even though his fingers linger on the softer fabric of his sweat pants and hoodie.

In the hallway, he can hear their voices more distinct now, some casual chitchat about whatnot, he doesn't even know. There's music turned low in the background, some playlist probably, no radio host interrupting the flow of the songs. He leans against the wall, listens for a moment, for a moment longer, not quite close enough to fully eavesdrop, bits and pieces of their conversation missing, drowned out by a flare in the music, a noise outside, the rumble of the coffee machine when one of them goes for a refill.

He doesn't know how long he's standing there, using the wall for support. His sense of time leaves him as he's staring down the hall, at the muted colours of the light carpet and the shadows occasionally moving over the wall across from the doorway into the kitchen. He's crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze flickering from the wall to the floor and back up, doesn't know why it feels so hard to take those final steps down the hallway and join them, where the growing bolt of anxiety comes from.

Sudden movement at the edge of his vision tugs him out of his spiralling thoughts. He must look like a deer caught in the head lights, digs his fingernails into the palm of his hand. James has appeared in the hallway, taken two steps in his direction, obviously just as startled at seeing him linger there as Jean-Eric feels at getting caught. His throat is dry and he swallows heavily, any greeting stuck in his throat.

“You okay?” James sounds cautious, but not worried. He keeps looking Jean-Eric straight in the eyes, and Jean-Eric clings to the gaze, holds it. “Andre?” James calls out over his shoulder, his voice slightly raised.

“Hm?” Andre appears behind him a moment later, still chewing on half a slice of toast. He stops behind James, still halfway in the kitchen, leans his shoulder against the door frame. “Hey Jev,” he says, studying him closely.

Jean-Eric's eyes flicker between them, back and forth between their faces. He doesn't know how to act, doesn't know what they've decided, how they're dealing with the night before. Are they ignoring it? Acknowledging it? The easy air between them looks like nothing has happened at all and it rubs at Jean-Eric's already raw nerves, makes him twitch restlessly. He looks back at Andre, but Andre's shut him out, his face one of his carefully constructed masks, the blank expression not telling him anything. His eyes return to James, but while he isn't trying to hide anything, Jean-Eric has no idea how to read him, feels like he doesn't know him at all yet, despite still feeling the ghost of their touch on him, _in_ him. The thought shouldn't be mortifying in the light of day, not when it felt so right the night before.

In the end it's Andre taking control of the situation, of the stalemate across the hallway. He nudges James' shin with the tip of his foot. “Come on, go,” he tells him when James turns his head around to look at him, the muscles around his eyes twitching nervously.

Jean-Eric watches them, watches as James takes a step towards him, then another. They were never far apart to start with, and it brings them close together, James barely an arms length away from him.

“Tell him what you told me,” Andre prompts, and Jean-Eric can see a blush steal onto James' face, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “Go on.”

“Last night was...” James starts, visibly searching for words. “It was amazing,” he eventually says. “It felt good, being with you, being with both of you,” he adds, head twisting to the side to look at Andre, and Jean-Eric can see the insecurity there, the same need for approval that he feels if less needy than in himself, and it helps slowing down that spinning anxiety in his stomach. James looks back at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes flicker down, at his nervous hands. “Can I touch you?”

Jean-Eric nods, closing his eyes as James cups his cheek, feeling his fingers trace into his hair. He opens his eyes, his gaze following the line of James' arm to the hem of his t shirt, seeing the dark bite mark he remembers having left there hours ago, matching the bruises around his own collarbone, and it calms him further, evidence of the traces he left on James, on both of them. He reaches up, covers James' hand with his own and uses it to pull himself away from the wall, leans in and like the night before, James meets him halfway for a sweet, gentle kiss.

“I'm gonna go make more coffee,” Andre announces, giving them a wink and a soft smile before disappearing through the door.

James groans, resting his forehead against Jean-Eric's. “You okay though?” he asks, repeating that first question.

“Yeah,” Jean-Eric whispers, his voice low in the small space between them. “Sorry, things mess with my head sometimes.” He can't really explain it better, not now when his nerves still feel jittery, the fight-or-flight response just so fought down. He isn't sure himself why it caught him out unprepared this time, not when last night hadn't been as wicked as some of the things Andre and him had tried over the past months; Andre will likely want to talk about it later, probably not today but certainly before their next play, and Jean-Eric's mind is already going into overdrive again, trying to pinpoint what was different, what tripped him up. Maybe it's as simple as the fact that while Andre had got to know him slowly, that Jean-Eric had time to open up to him gradually, that they took many steps together; that James just got thrown into the mix, like a bucket of ice water, and Jean-Eric hasn't really got time to adjust, as much as he'd coveted the chill.

James' lips against his draw him out of his thought process. “You were so far away again already,” he says, his voice amused. He kisses the apology from Jean-Eric's mouth before the words can be spoken. “Just let me know, okay? If there's anything.”

Jean-Eric lets himself be towed into the kitchen, walks over to lean against Andre's back for a second, accepting the cup of coffee Andre presses into his hand. They pick up their conversation anew, about the race weekend coming up, about the schedule of the team car picking Andre up in the late afternoon, his team obligations so early the next day that he can't linger in Tokyo for the night, about the road trip with James' supercar they are going to take tomorrow to follow him; their dinner plans, the schedule at the track, comparing the hotel addresses the teams had finally emailed them. Jean-Eric lets them talk, feeling more human, more grounded by their amicable chit-chat around him, eventually joins in after the bites of warm, buttery toast and sips of coffee have quelled the strange feeling in his stomach further.

 

After a walk around midday (“Can we go see the puppies again?” Jean-Eric had asked and the other two had humoured him) Jean-Eric finds himself sprawled out on the bed in the guest room, lazily stretched out while he watches Andre pack, hunting down his belongings that in no time at all seem to have migrated to the whole of James' flat.

Returning with a pair of spare socks in his hands, Andre leans in the door frame for a moment, watching Jean-Eric on the bed. “What happened this morning?” he asks eventually, rolling up the socks in each other and tossing them in the direction of his suitcase as he walks towards the bed, kneeling on the mattress at the foot of it. Jean-Eric rolls onto his back, spreading out his arms as Andre crawls up over him, leaning forwards to push his hands into the pillows on either side of Jean-Eric's face, contemplating him thoughtfully.

“I don't know,” he says honestly. “First it was okay, then it all just felt too much, and then it got better again.”

Andre shifts his weight onto one warm, lifting his right hand to place it on Jean-Eric's chest, over his heart. “You don't have to stay here, you know? I have to go today, but I can make arrangements if you want to come with me tonight.”

Jean-Eric shakes his head. “It's okay. Really. It wasn't James' fault, it was no one's fault. And I really want to spend more time with him.” He doesn't add that it would probably make James feel like crap if Jean-Eric just fled with Andre, but the thought that Andre worried enough about him to risk that warms his heart as much as the steady pressure of his palm.

Andre nods. “I trust you,” he says and then leans down to press a gentle kiss against Jean-Eric's lips.

 

The car comes to pick Andre up at 4pm. They say goodbye in the hallway before Andre pulls his suitcase towards the elevator without a backwards glance. Their dinner appointments had been made in advance (“You okay for a group? If not that's okay too,” James offers but Jean-Eric waves him off, the care they're still taking around him starting to rub him the wrong way. “I'm okay,” he tells James again and then pushes him up against the wall in the hallway, kissing him deeply to make a point. “Okay?”) and they use the time to get ready themselves, already start packing too as not to have to get up too early the next day, leaving just what they need for the night and the next morning.

Dinner is fun, the food good, and Jean-Eric enjoys talking to the new people after the time spent alone just with James and Andre, a good trial run for the business of the team and the crowded paddock the next day, his media approved smile already back in place. He is still tired though, and he finds himself following the dog he already saw through the large windows of the restaurant outside after the main course has been served and devoured, petting the fat little dog as he allows himself a smoke. He takes a video of the dog, posts it on instagram, then sends the link to Andre with the words _replacing you_ and a smiley, grinning when he receives a private picture in return, Andre pouting into the camera still surrounded by the interior of a car.

They keep trading pictures back and forth for the rest of the night, throughout desserts and the trip back to James' flat, James looking at him bemused when Jean-Eric takes a close up of him across the aisle of the tube, then another one after Jean-Eric told him they're for Andre, sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes.

Back at the flat, Jean-Eric goes to the bathroom adjoining the guest room to brush his teeth, strips out of the smart clothes he's been wearing for dinner. He puts on his sweatpants, contemplating a shirt but forgoes it. James is already in bed by the time Jean-Eric walks down the hall to the master bedroom, knocking his knuckles against the door frame.

“Come on in,” James says, a pleased smile around his lips as he shifts over, lifting up the blanket for Jean-Eric to slip between the sheets.

James turns to the night stand to switch off the bedside lamp, and Jean-Eric uses the opportunity to move in close behind him, wrap himself around James' back. James makes a surprised little noise but then relaxes into it, his body becoming pliant in Jean-Eric's arms, hands settling over Jean-Eric's across his stomach.

“Thank you for today,” Jean-Eric says, his lips moving against the skin at James' neck.

“Yeah?” James asks, and Jean-Eric can feel the doubt in his voice, squeezes his arms around him a bit in confirmation.

“Yes.”

The hum that's James' reply rumbles through his chest, Jean-Eric can feel it against his skin, they're lying so close together. He closes his eyes, rests his forehead against the soft hairs at the back of James' neck and matches their breathing rhythms, and within five minutes he's dozed off into peaceful sleep.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *blows dust off this story*  
> Hello, anyone still care? lol I'm so sorry this took me so long to finish it; but the way I got dragged into the Helmut/Andre headspace had me properly chained down for so long!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who prodded at me to get back to this: you know who you are and I'm grateful you made me do this. I hate leaving stories unfinished, so I'm happy to say this is it, this is the final chapter, and I'm done.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read, kudo'ed, and commented on here, I'm happy you enjoyed the story and I hope you'll enjoy this as chapter as well. Thank you for sticking with me. xoxo

The alarm the next morning is jarring. Jean-Eric rolls over, reaching for the nearest pillow to bury his head under, escaping the loud noise for the next couple of minutes. He has rolled onto his stomach, and shivers when he feels the cool air as the blanket is pulled away from his back. The mattress shifts next to him and then the soft pressure of James' lips trace down his spine.

“Come on, we need to get going,” James whispers against his skin, teeth grazing along the bumps of his shoulder blades when Jean-Eric shifts, trying to push James away with his hand. “I'll go make coffee.”

Getting up early is worth it though as they take James' toy, the yellow sports car, out of the garage: Tokyo never sleeps, but the traffic is much lighter as early as they're on the way, escaping the inner city before the early morning rush hour, watching the sun rise from behind the high rises in the distance as they leave the city behind. James has connected his smart phone to the car's stereo, some electronic music playing that Jean-Eric would find irritating on any given day, but its sounds fit the weird sense of Tokyo and Japan around him, the alienation he feels with a country he doesn't know, only ever been a guest and stranger in so he lets it wash through him.

They stop for more coffee and breakfast at a petrol station halfway there, Mount Fuji already so much bigger than from the top of James' building, looming ahead with its snow-capped peak. They lean against the hood of the car as they sip their coffees, the pre-packed sandwiches they bought lying between them.

“Can I ask you something?” James says eventually, a certain tension to his body that's been accumulating all morning. Jean-Eric had allowed it to ripen, waiting for James to address it. He makes an affirmative noise, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Andre wasn't your first...” There's a million words to finish the sentence with, and Jean-Eric can feel James struggle to pick the right one, trying to name what's been going on between Andre and him in a way that doesn't sound presumptuous about the seriousness of it. “Guy?”

“No,” he says, answering truthfully. He takes a sip from his coffee, frowning. “Did you follow the rumours about me in F1?” he asks, not really knowing how much James cares, if at all for the series he isn't involved in.

“You mean the ones about you and Ricciardo?” James asks, and Jean-Eric nods.

“They weren't rumours, well, most of them anyway,” he says.

James snorts. “You're really not that good at hiding shit, are you?” he asks, and Jean-Eric laughs.

“Well, at first I thought I wasn't important enough for anyone to give a shit, and then I just stopped caring,” he says truthfully, the end of that year still sitting like acid in his guts every time he thinks about it. “Anyway, so yeah. There was Dan, and then there were a couple flings, and now there's Andre.” He thinks about adding 'and you' but isn't quite sure what James would make of it.

Jean-Eric watches him sideways, looking as James chews thoughtfully on a bite of his sandwich. There's still a tension in him, but he doesn't seem to come to any conclusion.

“Anything else you want to know?” Jean-Eric says after a moment, when James can't seem to find the words. The tips of James ears turn a little pink, and now Jean-Eric's interest is piqued once more, wondering what thought could cause that reaction, already thinking he might have an inkling. “Come on, you can ask,” he offers, genuinely curious what is going through James' mind.

“Do you ever...” James visibly squirms under Jean-Eric's scrutiny, but Jean-Eric can tell that he's curious, that his curiosity wins eventually. “Do you always get fucked?” James blurts out bluntly, and Jean-Eric chuckles at his words.

“Not always,” Jean-Eric says, quirking one eyebrow. “But I like it a lot, so I don't mind that Andre prefers topping.”

James mulls that over in his mind. “But don't you find it... awkward?” He's trying to find the words, trying to convey what he means, his cheeks a little flushed now too. Jean-Eric finds it entirely endearing. “I can never get over how awkward it feels, like, uncomfortable, and it always kills the mood,” he says in a rush.

Cocking his head to the side, Jean-Eric takes another thoughtful sip of his coffee. “In the beginning I guess,” he says, trying to look back at his first experiences with Dan from a clinical perspective, to not let bitterness and hurt taint the experiences he made back then. “I guess it helped that I had no idea what we were doing, neither of us really,” he admits. “Everything was awkward anyway, so by the time we figured out how to make it feel good, we didn't care about awkwardness anymore.” He gazes into the distance for a moment, allowing the memories to catch up with him. “And it helps if you're really relaxed. Or drunk.” He nudges James in the side with his elbow when he hears James chuckle. “You get used to it, is what I'm saying.”

“Hmm,” James hums in vague agreement, turning the paper cup of coffee in his hand absentminded. “Just... did Andre tell you I saw you?” Jean-Eric frowns, and James continues when he sees it. “When I stayed at yours in Paris. I didn't mean to spy, just... I saw you and him, in the morning.”

It's Jean-Eric's turn to flush at the memory James drags to the forefront of his mind: the morning after the launch, how he'd been more asleep than awake when he had felt Andre's mouth on him, pulling him from the hazy brink of sleep, how Andre had played him open easily with his fingers, eager and awake from jetlag, Jean-Eric going along with it as Andre had rolled onto his back, prompting Jean-Eric to push himself up over him, sink down on his cock, the slow, languid rhythm of their lovemaking, the way they had shifted and moved with each other almost as if he'd still been dreaming.

“You were so into each other,” James says, and there's a strange longing in his voice, barely contained, and Jean-Eric feels his heart ache for him. James looks down at his shoes, pushes the tip of his foot against a crack in the pavement.

“Andre wasn't like that with you,” Jean-Eric guesses, watching as James shakes his head.

“No, not really,” James admits. “Doesn't mean he isn't gentle or so, but... everything always turns into a struggle. He's different with you. Do I sound as jealous as I think I sound? Sorry.” He looks up, catching Jean-Eric's gaze. He looks a little sheepish, a little insecure.

“Don't be.” Jean-Eric moves closer, resting his head against James' shoulder for a moment, thinking. “Why do you think that is? Because you were friends first? You two have this bro-thing going, I don't know,” Jean-Eric muses, trying to wrap his head around it. He's learned so much about the dynamic between Andre and James over the past days, more than in the year he's already known Andre before, and he wants to put it all together, solve this weird tangle the three of them have ended up in. It's selfish, maybe, that he thinks they could probably make it work, selfish for wanting the primal pleasures he's been part of recently to keep going on forever, for wanting to turn this thing into something easy, something they all can enjoy.

James shrugs, non-committal and a little helpless at the same time. He looks young, Jean-Eric thinks, younger than himself maybe, definitely a lot younger than Andre; not just from his purely physical form, but from the air of innocence around him. There's no doubt in Jean-Eric's mind why Andre feels drawn to James.

“When was the last time you two had sex?” Jean-Eric asks, genuinely curious about their timeline, about how quickly Andre had moved on from James to him.

“Define sex,” James says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fucked like you two? That's been forever ago, we didn't try that a lot. Blowjobs and stuff, I think a year and a half, a little more. After he decided to move back to Europe.”

It's Jean-Eric's turn to hum contemplatively. “Would you want to try it again though? Getting fucked?” he asks curiously. “Maybe you can appreciate it more by now, and not gonna lie, Andre probably improved his technique too,” Jean-Eric can't help adding with a smirk.

The blush on James' face deepens, but he looks up to meet Jean-Eric's eyes, looking at him for a moment before he answers. “Yeah, I would, I think,” he says seriously. “Would you be there too?”

Jean-Eric pushes himself away from the car, turning so that he's facing James and stepping over his legs to come close to him. He reaches out, cups James' face with his hands and leans in to press a soft kiss against James' slack lips. “If you want me to,” Jean-Eric says.

James lifts his hands to Jean-Eric's waist, twisting his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and pulling him close, lifting his face for soft kiss. “I want you to,” he confirms.

“Before we leave Japan?” Jean-Eric can't help asking, feeling eager to get his fingers on James, to see what pleasures he can draw out of him. His mind is already turning into overdrive, all the possibilities of James between him and Andre, of James at the mercy of their hands and mouths, and Jean-Eric wants that, wants to find out what James sounds like with his mouth around James' cock, what his skin tastes like in all those places no one usually gets to taste. “Fuck you good, so that you still feel it when you sit in the car on Sunday?” he suggests and James shivers beneath his hands.

“You're wicked, you know that? No wonder Andre took a liking to you,” James says, his voice wavering a little.

Jean-Eric grins, kissing him again. “Come on, we should get going,” he suggests.

“You're already making plans, I can tell,” James says but follows Jean-Eric's suggestion and pushes himself away from the hood of the car, throwing away the paper cups and wrappings of their breakfast in a nearby bin before he opens the car, sliding back into the driver seat.

 

 

 

The rest of the drive passes quickly, and before they know what's happened, they are checked into different hotel rooms, their schedules for the weekend pushed onto them. They're picked up by their teams, whisked away to the track and into the paddock, into the whirlwind of pre-race briefings, team meetings and media duties, and before Jean-Eric can breathe again, it's already dark, late evening, dinner with the rest of his team on the agenda, and he enjoys himself, talking to Andrea who is seated next to him, exchanging stories from the past weeks.

Being alone in his hotel room, really alone for the first time in days, makes Jean-Eric’s skin itch uncomfortably. He has a long shower, but nothing helps him from twisting and turning, sleep not coming easily. When the alarm clock on the bedside table shows the small hours of morning and he hasn’t got more than a couple minutes of sleep, he sighs unhappily as he picks up his phone, making up his mind.

_Let’s meet tomorrow night at Andre’s room_ , he texts James. _Sleep-over at yours_ , he texts Andre afterwards. There is no reply, and Jean-Eric has to admit to himself that the others are probably asleep, not as restless as he is. Turning over, he stares at the ceiling and the unfamiliar dark shapes of the room, lets his mind stray to the men he feels so strongly for. He lets the next day play out in front of his eyes, everything from the moments at the track to the evening, all the possibilities. He thinks about James, about how he wants to touch him; he thinks about Andre, his body, his hands, about everything he loves in the way Andre kisses him, fucks him. The marks they left on him are still bruising his skin lightly, tangible in the soft ache his own touch leaves behind as he slides his hands down his body, underneath the sheets. He isn’t hard when he cups his own hand around his cock, palm resting heavily over his flaccid length; he is too tired, too distracted, but it feels good anyway, comforting somehow.

By morning, he’s got a plan.

 

 

 

 

Being on different teams means different schedules for all of them. By the time Jean-Eric can finally leave the track to return to the hotel, a quick dinner eaten during the debrief headphones still on his ears as he listened to the engineers, it’s later than he had anticipated. His plan to go by his room, drop off his things and change, evaporates with his need to go see the others, his head already spinning with the possibilities of what they got up without him.

_Would you be there too?_ James’ question from the day before comes back to his mind and he bites the inside of his cheek as he waits for the elevator to arrive, the way up the floors stretching into one endless moment.

He has to knock on the door, having had no time to sneak a room card from Andre earlier, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for the door to open. He wonders how much time it will take for them to get decent, for them to open the door; wonders if he should knock again, whether they heard at all. As it is, the door opens surprisingly fast.

“I thought there’d be a lot less clothes involved as late as I got here,” Jean-Eric says in lieu of a greeting as Andre holds open the door for him. He’s wearing one of his faded print shirts, soft sweatpants, and quirks an eyebrow at Jean-Eric as he steps back to allow him into the room. The TV is tuned onto some Japanese sports channel, rapid-fire Japanese commentary turned down low. On the coffee table Andre has the laptop open, some photo manipulation software and one of the pictures Jev recognises must have been taken during the last week. Both his and James’ phone are scattered among printouts from Andre’s race team. James turns to look at Jean-Eric over the back of the couch, still dressed in the team livery’s button-down shirt Jev had seen him wear earlier when they’d passed each other in the paddock. There’s a nervousness around him that’s all too easy for Jean-Eric to see, setting off a little ache in his own chest. Jev glances back at Andre who has closed the door behind him lingering there, his face set in his usual neutral mask, and Jean-Eric suddenly understands the tension in the room that’s making the air thick enough to cut. “Oh, my god, you two are the absolute worst.”

Jean-Eric drops his bag by the sideboard, toeing off his shoes as he rounds the edge of the couch. James has just enough time to lift his arms out of his lap before Jean-Eric straddles him, leaning in for a gentle kiss. He strokes his fingers through James’ hair, smiling when he feels James’ hands settle around his waist. “How long have you been here?” he asks quietly, stroking his thumb over James’ cheek. He watches his eyelids flutter shut, some of the tension draining out of him.

“An hour or so,” James answers equally quiet, leaning in for another kiss that’s slow and deep and just the right amount of desperate. Jean-Eric takes his time returning it, kissing back with all he’s got, only satisfied when they both come away a little breathless.

Jean-Eric tsks and reaches down to start undoing the buttons on James’ shirt. The couch dips next to them and Andre sits down facing them, one leg pulled onto the cushion, his arm stretched out along the back of the couch. He reaches out for James’ neck, but Jean-Eric bats his hand away. “Hands off, you’ve had your chance,” he says before leaning in to kiss James again, ignoring Andre’s startled look. He draws out the kiss, putting on a show that James easily plays along with, open mouthed, their tongues visibly sliding against each other. When he pulls away, Jean-Eric turns his head to look at Andre, humming in satisfaction as James starts biting at his neck. “An hour, Andre? And you’re rather fucking around with Photoshop?”

Andre looks chastised, a flush creeping up over his cheeks, his jaw twitching as he grinds his teeth, but he does pull his arm away, shifting backwards on the couch a little. It’s not that Jean-Eric doesn’t understand; Andre is aloof to most people, struggles against being tied down with the vehemence of a trapped lion, but the few people he attaches to, he allows to connect to him, he can’t live without. Jean-Eric thinks that he’s become one of them, but their relationship had been clear from the start. With James it’s different, their bond so much stronger, something he can only fathom how heavily Andre depends on, setting the risk of ruining something vital so much higher. It’s stakes Jev doesn’t know, it’s a risk he himself doesn’t have when he touches James, when he kisses him; he likes the Brit, but if this goes south, he doesn’t have a friendship between them to lose as well. Jev knows what he set in motion when he invited James to Paris back then, when he allowed this thing to unfold between them, the way he was pushing to see how far they all could take it, a road untravelled between James and Andre if it weren’t for his interference. He’s risking their hearts more than his own.

“Shut those down,” he tells Andre with a nod in the direction of the laptop, of the TV. He doesn’t want the distraction, he doesn’t want the noise. He wants it to be just them.

To his surprise Andre does as he’s told, turning to sort around the things on the coffee table looking for the remote. Jev returns his attention to James, cupping his cheeks before he kisses him.

“You still want to get fucked?” Jev asks into James’ mouth, his voice low enough for only James to hear. James nods, deepening the kiss and Jev lets him take control for a moment, sighing languidly before he unzips the fleece he’s still wearing over his t shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders to land on the floor, returning his attention to the last buttons of James’ shirt. The noise of the TV disappears, leaving his ears ringing in the sudden quiet of the room. A moment later he feels the heat of Andre’s body behind him, hands on his shoulders, fingers tracing up either side of his neck. His fingers dig into the soft skin beneath Jean-Eric’s jaw, pressing in until it hurts, until Jev leans his head back, breaking the kiss to look at Andre towering over him.

“Who said you’re in charge here?” Andre asks with a raised eyebrow, and Jev smirks seeing the twinkle in Andre’s eyes that tells him he’s allowed to push, that Andre is game to go along but that Jev will feel the consequences later. It makes him shudder in anticipation. He closes his eyes when Andre leans down for a kiss, their lips not aligning quite right, not as familiar and easy as they’re used to.

Jean-Eric pushes him away, turning on James’ lap. “Because you two got nowhere without me.” He leans back, feeling James’ hands come up around his waist, tugging on the hem of his t shirt to touch skin, Andre’s eyes flickering down momentarily to follow the movement. “Take off your clothes, and lie on the bed?” Jev bites his lip, but the words still sound more like a question than the order he’d tried to word them as.

Andre looks at him for a long moment, not blinking at all, before he lifts his arms and reaches for the back of his t shirt, dragging it over his head and tosses it aside. He walks around the end of the couch, and Jean-Eric turns in James’ lap again, watching over James’ shoulder as Andre pushes down his sweatpants, stepping out of them and his underwear before he sits down at the end of the bed, his eyebrow quirked in challenge. Jean-Eric answers with a smirk, before he returns his attention to James, unhurriedly kissing him again.

James lets out a soft moan when Jean-Eric runs his hands over his now exposed chest, taking a moment to pinch at his nipples. He kisses along James’ jaw to his neck, biting at the skin there. “Be loud,” he says close to James’ ear, startling another noise from him. He dips his head down to run the sharp edge of his teeth along the jut of James’ collar bone, before he sits back and slides off James’ legs to the floor, pushing his legs apart. He looks up to see the flushed expression on James’ face, the way he’s biting his lip as Jean-Eric rubs his hands up James’ jean clad thighs, cupping his straining erection through the fabric, squeezing. James moans, head dropping back against the backrest of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes as Jean-Eric starts to work his jeans open and drag them over his hips and down his long legs, taking his underwear with them too impatient himself to tease for long. He wants to taste James, that perfect, big cock he’s already felt inside him, and Jev does just that, leaning in and licks a long line up the underside of James’ cock making him groan and thrust his hips upwards in need. He didn’t allow himself enough time for this the last time, had been too eager to get fucked, but it’s not quite like that now: his goal is a different one and taking the tip of James’ cock into his mouth, sucking strongly to taste the burst of precome that spreads over his tongue seems like just the right kind of distraction. He looks up when he feels a hand in his hair, James stroking him aimlessly, fingers playing through his hair and along his jaw softly, his other arm spread along the backrest of the couch, fingers digging into the cushions as Jev takes him in deeper, trying to see how far he can go. As expected, James is too big to take him in completely, but Jean-Eric loves the challenge, pushing himself, chasing that chocked up noise James makes when Jev fights his gag reflex, knows the muscles in his throat quivering can be felt around the tip of James’ cock. He pulls back with an obscenely slurpy noise, catching his breath before he does it again, grinning when James slides lower on the couch in his need for more.

It’s just what Jev hoped James would do. Jean-Eric pulls back, making sure to leave James’ cock slick with his saliva as he grasps his cock in his hand, starting to stroke him languidly. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the tip, grinning when James can’t help his hips lifting off the couch wantonly. Jean-Eric leans back in, sucking a bruise into the soft skin at the inside of James’ thigh, then drags his mouth across to leave a mirroring mark on the other side before he licks wetly over James’ balls, drawing them into his mouth to suck on them too.

“Fuck, Jev,” James gasps, his voice strangled. His hips buck towards him and he spreads his legs wider, pressing his crotch into Jev’s face in offering. Jev hums greedily. He pushes with his free hand at James’ knee encouraging the wanton splay of his legs, and then rubs his hand up the inside of James’ thigh. He leaves it there fingers spread wide, playing the pad of his thumb through the slick of his drool, and then pushes his thumb lower, rubbing over his hole. “Fuck.” James shudders, squirming with his whole body against the unfamiliar feeling, and Jev leans in before James can pull away, licking with the tip of his tongue where his thumb is just so pressing into James, making James come almost off the couch. He drags his thumb away, giving himself more space for his tongue, and is rewarded with James moaning loudly, an obscene string of curses falling from his lips.

“If you two were just going to fuck without me, I don’t get why you have to do it in my room.”

Jev can’t help laughing. He leans back, hearing James groan in turn, and pushes himself to his feet. His eyes linger on James sprawled and breathless, have flushed red in front of him, before he can drag his eyes away and look at Andre on the bed behind the couch. Andre is glaring back at him, visibly aroused as he’s still sitting at the end of the bed, his muscles tense. There’s so much naked skin, both James and Andre undressed for Jev, and for a moment it makes his head spin and his mouth go dry having them both so willing on display. Before he can allow the thought to fully go to his head, Jean-Eric grins.

“Oh, you want to see?” he asks, and holds out a hand to James who’s still dazedly looking up at him. It takes James a moment to get his wits together enough to take Jean-Eric’s outstretched hand. Jev pulls him to his feet, holding him close to give him a long, deep kiss before he grasps James’ shoulders and spins him around. “Kneel on the couch,” he instructs, pushing James’ forwards until his legs bump against the cushions and James obeys, kneeling on the squashy couch. “Arms on the backrest,” Jev tells him, his hands moving from James’ shoulders down his back, caressing his wide back and the muscles shifting as James does as he’s told, leaning forwards on the couch. He can’t see James’ face like this, but he can see Andre’s, the way his eyes are following James’ movements, the way he’s absentmindedly biting at his lip.

Jev waits until Andre is looking at him before he lifts one hand to his mouth, sucking two of his fingers between his lips making a show of it and Andre’s eyes narrow. James makes a soft little noise when Jean-Eric touches him with his spit-wet fingers, stroking his fingertips over James’ hole, not really pushing in, just getting him used to being touched there. He’s waiting for James to move back into him, searching for a firmer touch. When he does, Jean-Eric smirks at Andre, sticks out his tongue with a wink, and sinks to his knees.

The moan James makes when Jev spreads his cheeks and licks into him is desperate and wild, countered by a quiet curse from Andre watching him. Encouraged, Jev sets his mind to it, not trying to follow Andre’s reaction anymore, just focussed on the man who’s hips he’s grasping with his hands to hold him steady as he starts working him open with his tongue. He doesn’t want to make James come; he doesn’t think he could, not when the sensations are strange and unfamiliar to James, and he also doesn’t want him to be oversensitive for when Andre fucks him later: he wants James to feel good throughout, to be overwhelmed in a good way, to have him experience this with the same wanton abandon that Jev feels every time someone takes him apart like this. It’s a thin edge to walk, but James is uninhibited and responsive, answering every push of Jev’s tongue with a stuttered breath, every little flick with a squirm, becoming more and more pliant beneath his ministrations. Before long, Jev reaches into the back pocket of the jeans he’s still wearing to take out one of the blisters of lube he’d pocketed eagerly earlier, spreading it over his fingers. It tastes horribly artificial, something supposedly fruity but that Jev can’t place, but he doesn’t take his tongue away when he pushes the tip of his slicked index finger into James, too focussed on the little keening noise it drags out of him.

“Fuck, you guys.” Andre’s words splinter Jev’s focus, making him sit back. James moans at the loss of Jev’s tongue, but then groans when Jev pushes a second finger into him, stilling his hand when he feels the tight clench of James’ muscles around him. He caresses James’ hip soothingly with his free hand, keeping his fingers still as he looks past James.

Andre has moved back on the bed, propped up on one elbow. His fingers are twisted into the sheets, his other hand curled around his dick, squeezing himself tightly. “Damn it, Jev.”

Jev narrows his eyes. “Don’t come if you want to fuck James,” he warns, thinking he’s got to move this along quicker before he loses one of them. He knows James wouldn’t object to Jev fucking him in the end, but that wasn’t his plan, that wasn’t what he lay awake thinking about the night before, and he does want to see this through. He wants to watch them fuck and know he’s been the one to bring them there, the power a thrill of its own more luring than any orgasm right now. Andre groans, but Jev can see the grasp on his cock become less firm, how Andre takes a couple deep breaths to get back in control.

“He feels so good, you know,” Jev says conversationally, starting to move his fingers slowly into James again, feeling him shiver and squirm in turn. “So tight and hot.” He carefully gets to his feet, rubbing his free hand up and down James’ back a couple of times. James’ head is hanging down, his eyes closed in concentration. Jean-Eric rubs at his neck, at the straining sinews there, his fingertips stroking through the damp hairs at his nape before he curls them in the short hair, pulling James’ head back. He can feel the moment James’ eyes connect with Andre’s through the clench of his arse around his fingers, through the way James instinctively pushes back into him for more. Jev curls his fingers inside him, searching, grinning when James lets out a startled moan, his hips twitching back for more. Sure that James won’t be able to look away now that he’s been caught by Andre’s heated gaze and the sight of his naked body on the bed, Jev moves his hand down James’ back to his flank and then to his stomach, down to grip his dick loosely. He’s gone a little soft from the unfamiliar task of adjusting to Jev’s fingers, but his cock throbs with renewed arousal as Jev jerks him a couple times, feeling the slick of precome at the tip and wipes it away with a swirl of his thumb. “Want to taste?” he asks directed at Andre, commanding his attention, before he lifts the thumb to his own lips and licks it.

“Yes.” It’s a simple word, Andre’s voice dark and quiet and hoarse, and Jev is done denying him, denying them.

Jean-Eric carefully pulls his fingers from James, wiping them on his shirt before he drags it unceremoniously over his head to toss it aside. He reaches for James, pulling him up and back into himself, guiding him from the couch cushions to stand up with his back pressed to Jev’s front. James moans quietly at the feel of Jev’s erection through the fabric of his jeans poking at his arse, but before he can twist in Jev’s arms, Jev starts steering him around the edge of the couch towards the bed, towards Andre.

“Climb on top of him,” Jev instructs, his lips close to James’ ear, nipping at his shoulder. James obeys, shakily crawling onto the bed, his knees digging into the mattress on either side of Andre’s hips, his hands braced on either side of Andre’s head as he leans forwards for balance, and Jev stops before the words can leave his mouth because Andre is cupping James’ cheek and meeting him for a kiss that goes from tentative to bruising within the blink of an eye, leaving even Jev breathless with its intensity.

If James had willingly handed himself over to Jev earlier, the way he just melts into Andre shows his starvation for the touch and affection of his friend, so openly on display that Jev wants to avert his eyes, give them privacy. Instead he busies himself by climbing onto the bed behind James, slicking up his fingers with more lube and uses the distraction to slip two back inside James’ arse without any resistance at all, feeling James relaxing as he pulls back to work a third in as well until it’s a wet, easy glide. He sits back, squeezing another blister of lube into his hand and reaches for Andre’s cock, feeling him startle at the body-warm lube slathered onto his cock.

“He’s ready for you,” Jev says, catching Andre’s eyes, the dark heat in them, and something almost fragile. “Come on, James.” He makes James sit back, makes him lean against his chest, twisting to kiss his mouth, chase Andre’s taste across his lips, helping James position himself over the tip of Andre’s dick. “Slow.”

“Fuck, you sure-“ James starts to say but Jev kisses him again, rubbing his palms over James’ chest, pinching at his nipples.

Andre’s got one of his hands wrapped around his cock as James slowly starts to sink onto him, his other hand splayed wide over James’ thigh, thumb digging into the bruise Jev sucked into the sensitive skin there earlier. “Yeah, like that,” he encourages before his voice breaks, groaning loudly. “Fuck, James.”

Jean-Eric can feel the tension in James’ body where he’s holding him in his arms, sweat making his heated skin slick. “Slow,” he whispers, licking over James’ mouth again who’s too distracted to kiss back properly. “Your pace, you’re in control here,” he murmurs, followed by more nonsense as he feels James slowly inch down, shivering as he impales himself on Andre’s cock.

They all take a deep breath when James sits flush on Andre’s lap.

Jean-Eric bites at his shoulder, licking at the salty skin. “Still weird?” he asks quietly.

“A little,” James answers, his voice stuttering on the syllables as Andre uses that moment to wrap his hand around James’ cock, making his hips buck forwards. Andre flexes his hips, trying to push up, but he’s got no leverage with both James sitting on his lap and Jev on his legs, but the shallow, slow thrusts are what James needs to get used to the sensation, starting to slowly move into them instead of fighting Andre, and Jev can feel the moment he’s beginning to relax into it, his stomach muscles unclenching as he leans forwards a little, bracing one hand against Andre’s wide chest.

They’re beautiful together, their similar body shape, the bulk of their muscles so different to Jean-Eric. He climbs off the bed, stepping a few feet away to really take them in, the way they fall into a more familiar rhythm with each other, establishing a give and take. It’s mesmerising, and Jev finds himself rooted in place for a long moment before he can shake himself out of it, turning away as he finally gets undressed, can’t help the quiet sigh as he unbuttons his jeans. His focus had been so entirely on James before that his own arousal had been pushed to a far away corner of his mind, and he becomes aware of it now, the ache flooding his system like a punch to the gut. He wraps his hand around his cock, giving himself a couple strokes to release some of the ache, feeling almost oversensitive without having been touched at all. His eyes return to the bed, watching as James has slumped forwards, curled up over Andre’s body, has sought out his mouth for a deep kiss. He’s making tiny, desperate noises just so audible before Andre kisses them right from his lips. Without Jev’s weight on Andre’s legs, he’s pulled them up, his feet pushing into the mattress for leverage as he thrusts his hips up more pronounced now, his hands grasping James’ arse tightly, holding him in place.

They’re such a unit, puzzle pieces slotting together perfectly. It takes Jev’s breath away unlike the arousal of seeing naked bodies writhing together in sexual pleasure; it makes him short of breath like a hand squeezing around his chest feeling like an intruder, like he’s stumbled upon something not meant for him to see. It reminds him of standing in the hallway a couple days ago, listening to them talk and laugh, the easy familiarity with which they so seamlessly move around their shared flats, not sure how he’d fit in there, not sure he was even allowed, welcome.

“Jev.”

Hearing his name spoken startles him, that deer in the headlights feeling he hates so much, that must be plastered all over his face. He forces himself to meet Andre’s gaze, still unsure, but then Andre lifts one hand from James’s body, holds it out to him. He stumbles, almost falling in his haste to get on the bed. He reaches for Andre’s hand, allows himself to be pulled forwards until he’s stretched out along their sides, drawn into Andre’s kiss. Andre’s arm wraps around his neck and shoulders, holding Jean-Eric tightly against them, and he can feel James move a little too, the hand he’d braced against the mattress moving behind Jean-Eric’s back, shifting him slightly on Andre’s lap, just enough to lean down and nuzzle at the side of Jev’s face too.

“Fuck,” James groans, his voice a puff of hot air against Jev’s ear. “Fuck, Andre, like that,” he says, his arms holding him up buckling slightly under the strain, trembling where the sweaty skin of his arm is pressed against Jev’s back. His shifting must have changed the angle of Andre fucking up into him too, drawing more pleasure out of him, and Jean-Eric turns his head away from Andre, licking at James’ slack lips instead, eating up his moans. He feels encompassed by them, part of the cocoon of heat they are generating, squirming against them, his hard cock pressed into the strong muscle of James’ thigh. He’s rutting mindlessly against them, his fingers clawing into Andre’s chest, the kiss with James becoming more and more uncoordinated as they both hurtle towards orgasm, the edge there, sudden and impossible to step away from. Jev groans, thrusting his dick against James’ thigh, suddenly so much slicker as spunk spurts from his cock, easing the way. He turns his head away from James, hides it against Andre’s shoulder, bites at his neck as the sensations rush through him, almost overwhelming him entirely. He stays there, tasting the flutter of Andre’s rapid heartbeat beneath his skin, the sudden increase of his body heat right before he comes, the familiar salty scent of his skin. Dazedly he hears Andre curse, hears James moan before his weight sacks down onto both of them, shivering through his own orgasm.

Fingertips stroke up and down his back, a kiss is placed against his hair, and he doesn’t know who did what, and he doesn’t care, just basking in their warmth, held secure by their arms around him.

 

 

In the early hours of morning, Andre disentangles himself from the two bodies sharing the bed with him. He stretches his neck, feeling a crick from having slept with his head on James’ outstretched arm. He almost slides off the mattress trying not to wake them but without enough space on the bed to move freely. In the half-light, he stands there, looking down at the way Jean-Eric has curled around James’ back, hair a messy halo on the pillow they are sharing, the sheets twisted into a complicated knot between their limbs. James’ arm is still outstretched into the now empty space Andre left behind, but his breathing is still deep and undisturbed, his body relaxed.

Andre turns away, picking up his sweatpants from the floor and a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his open suitcase.

It’s cold outside on the balcony, his feet almost instantly turning to ice against the tiles. It’s October, after all, almost the end of the year now. He won’t be celebrating Christmas in Tokyo for the first time in over a decade, won’t be around for New Years either. It’s still a strange thought that this isn’t his home anymore.

He smokes quickly, flicking the still glowing butt of the cigarette over the balcony railing before it’s really finished, watching the embers disappear into the darkness below, before he turns around pushing open the balcony door to get back inside.

James and Jean-Eric are both awake. Andre can see that James has turned over, still sharing the same pillow. They’re talking quietly by themselves, turning their heads to look at him when he closes the balcony door behind himself, their sleepy gazes tinged by a bit of insecurity, by a bit of weariness.

Andre bites the inside of his cheek, can guess at what they must be thinking. He lifts his hand, gesturing helplessly at them. “The bed’s too small,” he tries to explain his flight, knows he sounds defensive. He walks towards the couch, leaning against the backrest with his arms crossed over his chest. “I want to buy a bigger one,” he adds, deciding to voice the thought he’d had earlier before he’d disentangled himself from their embrace.

“What?” Jev asks.

Andre frowns, averting his eyes to order his thoughts. “A bigger bed. One that fits us.” He hesitates. “I was thinking maybe in Monaco. I mean, Paris is your place, Tokyo is James’, and I got Gordes, but Monaco is kind of…” He shrugs. “It’s kind of in the middle, not geographically. But you know what I mean.”

“And you had to freeze your arse off on the balcony to decide that?” James asks, turning onto his back and lifting the edge of the sheets in invitation. “Fuck, your feet are icicles, you fucker,” he complains loudly when Andre follows the offer, sliding under the sheets and curling up against James’ side, chasing James’ feet with his own when James draws them away. “I’m going to make you pay for that bed,” he threatens, though the arm slung around Andre’s neck holding him close belies his malice. Andre kisses his chest, reaching out across James to tangle his fingers through Jev’s hair, who’s already closed his eyes again, dozing against James’ other shoulder.

He could get used to this, Andre thinks. It’s a risk they are taking, but he’d do it all over again.

 

Press stop. Rewind. Repeat.


End file.
